The Last Prince of Charn
by Sonata IX
Summary: Jareth's sister Jadis destroyed their world. Now he's been given a chance at redemption in the form of a mission, one that involves Susan Pevensie. Will he be able to help her, or will he get lost in creating his own world? Narnia sequel, Labyrinth prequel. NO Jareth/Susan romance.
1. Chapter 1

A lion was pacing through the streets. Lit only by the dim red light of the dying sun, the lion was not bothered by the crumbling ruins all around it. Indeed, it barely seemed to notice them, except that its large golden paws never stumbled over the debris that littered the streets. The lion did not look around at its surroundings, nor pause at any intersection. It simply continued its inexorable march at a stately pace, unconcerned that the sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon in the west.

It was the last sunset of Charn and Aslan, the Great Lion himself, had some to see its end.

The tired sun sank to the edge of the horizon, its lowest edge just beginning to dip out of sight...and then a curious thing happened. The sun...stopped. It lingered on the horizon like a ripe half-melon, frozen in place as if balanced on a flat table.

The lion entered one of the buildings. It was a blocky structure like many of the other buildings in the area, remarkable only because all four of its walls were still standing. A narrow hallway led from the entrance to a chamber that seemed impossibly large compared to the outside appearance of the building, but the lion did not pause. It turned right through another doorway, then right again, and then a sharp left. The passages continued onwards at a slight downward slant, until they had surely passed beyond the borders of the original building and were winding their way below other areas of the city.

At last, the lion arrived at a great stone door. Unlike everything else, the door showed no sign of decay and even managed to emanate with a sense that it would not be moved, not ever, not even for the end of the world.

The lion braced its front paws on the floor, its tail lashing back and forth, and for a moment it looked like a great cat about to pounce. It roared, and the doors quaked on their hinges and immediately swung open, revealing a dark pit of a room.

In the darkness, something stirred. A bedraggled, wasted man lurched unsteadily out of the room, leaning on the doors as he pulled himself forward. He might have been tall, but fear and exhaustion left him hunched like an old man. His skin was deathly pale and he blinked befuddled eyes at the lion, as if even the dim light was too much for him.

"What...what has happened?" he murmured, peering down the hallway as if looking for someone else.

"Your sister, Jadis, has used the Deplorable Word to end the war," the lion replied, its voice as deep and smooth as velvet.

The man's eyes widened in shock, not from hearing a lion speak, as one might expect, but due to what it said. He sagged against the doorway, face paling even further. "Then all is lost. I have doomed us all."

"Yes," the lion replied, bowing its head slightly. "Charn is dying." A shudder ran through the man. "But there may still be a chance for you to redeem yourself."

The man looked up, a wild hope in his eyes. The lion turned and began walking back up the passage, and after a moment the man followed. When they emerged from the building at last, the man's head jerked from side to side as he surveyed the wreckage. A low moan escaped his throat.

The sun continued to hang, unmoving, just above the horizon. The lion sat calmly beside the man, curling its tail around its paws as it spoke. "This world is lost, but there are others. Other souls in need of aid."

"How many souls would it take to make up for this? How many souls to save my own?" The man asked in a voice thick with regret.

The lion's eyes gleamed red in the dying light. "Just one. Will you help her, Jareth, the last Son of Charn?"

For a long moment, Jareth did not reply. Then he took a slow, deep breath. "I will." He nodded. "Yes, I will."

The sun set.

On another world, a young world where the sun was still bright and cheerfully golden, Susan Pevensie cursed the burning yellow ball and wished it would never rise again. The second-eldest Pevensie child, now the only Pevensie child - though she was no longer a child and hadn't been for some time - would have been satisfied if the sky remained overcast and gray for all the rest of her days. The harsh glare of the light made it harder to hide the dark hole in her heart.

Five years ago, Susan's entire family, consisting of a sister, two brothers, both parents and a cousin - along with several dear family friends, had been killed in a tragic train accident. Five years was a long time for a girl of twenty-six, and Susan had resolved to move on with her life. Her first step was to relocate from London to America, away from the memories and the constant reminders at every shop and park she had ever shared with her family.

It was not Susan's first visit to America, so she waltzed into the heart of New York with a confidence that was only belied by the pounding of her heart. Whispers surrounded her, wondering who the bold English beauty was. Susan allowed herself a small mysterious smile, pleased to play the role they offered her. After all, she was used to wearing a mask. She did not allow anyone to see her sorrow and no one bothered to look beyond the surface anyway.

That was how Susan Pevensie, the last Pevensie, the last Queen of Narnia, decided to become an actress.

The roles were small at first and, she suspected, offered solely based on her looks and delicious accent. Americans seemed to have a weakness for an English voice. But even though Susan refused to think of Narnia and denied that she had once been a queen - in fact, she had halfway convinced herself it was all only a dream - there was something magical about her, an intensity that the audience noticed. The parts began to add up, both in volume and in scope, until Susan one day found that she could ask for anything she wanted and there was always a production company eager to take her on.

Life was good.

And life was empty.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Welcome to my story. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo back in 2015, then managed to completely forget about it. It's complete and you'll be seeing one chapter per week. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Jareth found himself standing on the street of a foreign world. The lion was gone. People who looked much like him bustled past, ignoring the oddly-dressed stranger in their midst. He let the crowds flow around him, studying his surroundings.

The street was paved with square-ish colored bricks. Clattering past him were coaches drawn by horses and a few metal machines that roared and belched smoke while rattling along under their own power. Shop fronts with colorful hand-painted signs lined both sides of the street, declaring all manner of services and wares.

The sidewalks were full of the murmur of people going about their busy lives, the clicking of heels upon stone and the crackling of paper-wrapped packages being carried in hands or tucked under arms or within large bags. He noticed their ears were more rounded than his and touched his fingertips to his lobes, relieved to find that he still had enough innate magic to change their appearance.

His clothing would be another story though...he had come to this world with nothing but what he had been wearing when his traitorous sister locked him in the Chamber. No money, no prospects, no idea of how to even begin.

He felt a tug on his leg and turned to regard a small boy who was studying him with a frown. "Hey mister, why do you look so funny?" the boy asked, his voice brash and obnoxious.

Jareth glared at the boy. "Maybe you're the one who looks funny," he retorted, then winced at such a childish response.

The boy hopped back in surprise at the clipped words, but all he said was, "Oh, you're _English_. Are you with the carnival, mister?"

Jareth blinked at him. "The what?"

"The carnival! You know," the boy gestured down the street vaguely. "Le Carnaval." He spoke the last words oddly, as if uncertain of them. Jareth glanced in the direction that the boy had pointed, and then took a second, longer look.

At the end of the street, was a giant tent, white with wide red stripes that covered the entire thing. It was larger than most of the other buildings, almost large enough to house a small village. An elaborate arch had been erected in front of the pavilion with curling lettering. Forgetting about the boy, Jareth headed toward it.

The sign called to him like a beacon. Soon he was close enough to read the words.

"Le Carnaval" it proclaimed in swooping, dancing letters.

Jareth felt as if a great bell had tolled deep within his soul. This, this was where he was meant to be.

He drew nearer, close enough to peer inside the wide, open flaps of the pavilion. Within, he could see people who looked much more colorful than those he had seen on the streets. A dizzying array of vibrantly colored clothes, hairstyles that he thought must require magic to accomplish, and skin in more shades than his own world had known. He entered slowly, a moth being drawn inexorably to the flame.

Once inside, he found cages full of exotic animals, galleries full of twisted mirrors and deformed paintings, and all manner of smaller, oddly shaped buildings and tents.

"Hey! You!" Jareth flinched at the woman's voice. "You can't be in here! We don't open until six." A coppery-skinned woman with wealth of brassy curls and a revealing outfit that included both glitter and feathers grabbed his arm.

Jareth pulled away, clutching his arm to his chest. The woman blinked at the reaction. "I..I beg your pardon," he began. "I'm...a little lost."

As had happened with the boy, the woman's face changed when she heard his words. "Oh, _English_," she said, in that same knowing tone. Jareth frowned. He was really going to have to figure out what English was, and if it was a good or a bad thing that he was considered to be it. "You must be one of _hers_. I heard she was looking for a new writer. Us homegrown sorts ain't good enough, huh?"

"Er…" Jareth blinked awkwardly. The woman didn't sound angry, not exactly, but she did sound insulted and he hadn't understood enough of her words to know why. "I...I do beg your pardon," he tried again. "Perhaps you can direct me?" He tried a smile and a small bow.

The woman paused as if his actions were something unusual, then suddenly gave him a wide smile, patting her hair. "Well they sure do train you boys right across the ocean. Maybe you do know a thing or two." She nodded her head toward the back of the pavilion, causing her curls to flutter around her shoulders. "This way. I'll take you then. I'm Madge, by the way."

She waited as if for his own name, but Jareth merely gave her another bow and a nod. He offered her his arm, which seemed enough of a pleasant surprise to her that she accepted his namelessness without any further questioning. Perhaps the _her_ that they were going to meet was also _English_ and would thus be more comprehensible to him. As grateful as he was to his benefactor, the great lion, he was beginning to wish he'd been given a bit more guidance.

In one of the back corners of the pavilion, set apart from the other tents and structures, was a building draped in dark maroon. It wasn't a tent, merely a plain wooden shape swathed in layers and layers of rich fabric. "Cristal Lune" the sign above the door read, in simple, elegant lettering.

"Cristal, my dear!" The woman called. Jareth noticed she was careful not to encroach on the building, merely calling to the occupant from the path. "Your new writer has arrived!"

There was a thump and a scraping sound from inside, then the door was yanked open and a second woman appeared. She had long, dark hair and pale skin like his own. She wore a long flowing skirt and a simple blouse. "What!" she demanded as she strode towards them. "He can't be, I didn't even-" Her words trailed off as her eyes landed on Jareth, but he barely noticed that, unlike the others he had met, her accent matched his own.

The deep bell was tolling inside of him again. He didn't know what had startled her into silence, but _he _was suddenly intensely aware that he stood before the woman he had come to save.

The woman, Cristal, stared at him with the same wondrous expression, the look in her eyes one that said she knew magic when she saw it, and Jareth felt an immediate kinship form between them, as two alien creatures trapped in a land that was not their own.

Then she blinked and it was as if a door had slammed shut within her eyes. Her expression changed to one of mild confusion. "Are you...a writer?" she asked, eyeing him skeptically.

Madge cackled, plucking at Jareth's sleeve. "Sure, just _look_ at him. Only you creative types can pull off that kind of outfit." Jareth drew back a bit, both from the abrasive laughter and the unwanted touch. It was one thing to escort a lady on his arm, quite another to permit such poking and prodding. Cristal's eyes caught his discomfort.

"What's wrong with how I dress?" she demanded, drawing Madge's attention and folding her arms across her chest. Jareth belatedly noted that she was wearing the most conservative outfit that he'd seen since entering the otherworldly pavilion: a dark pleated skirt that fell just below her knees and a silky beige blouse, with a thin belt to accentuate her curves.

Madge snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "If he's not for you, then he's lost his way and you'd certainly know better what to do with him than I would." She flounced back up the path in a flurry of sequins and feathers, only pausing once to give him a saucy wink. Jareth frowned.

"Oh I would, would I?" Cristal grumbled. She was frowning after Madge too. After a moment, she sighed and turned to face Jareth. "Well then, what do you want? _Are_ you a writer?"

Jareth recognized the chance for what it was. He had to stay close to this woman. Attempting to shake off the awkward alien feeling of this new world, he assumed a casual pose. "As a matter of fact, I have written any number of things in my lifetime," he drawled, adding just the right amount of arrogance to his voice, pride in his supposed works. "Alas, I find myself stranded unexpectedly in this country and have none with me to demonstrate my abilities."

Cristal nodded, her face an expression of sympathy, though her voice when she spoke had a mocking undertone. "Of course you don't, poor dear." She stalked back into her home and made as if to slam the door behind her, but in a surge of panic, Jareth stopped the door before it could close. She blinked at his swift movements and then glared at his arm where it intruded through the gap.

"Madame Cristal, please."

"I don't have time for foolish vagabonds," she snapped. "Madge may be fooled by your accent, but I'm not. Wherever you're from, it's not England and it won't win you any sympathy with me." She shoved at his arm irritably.

"No, I'm not from England," he said hastily. The word felt odd to him and Cristal's eyes flicked to meet his briefly, her confusion plain, before she looked away again. "The place I'm from is...quite a bit more distant." His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to her. "But you know, don't you? I saw it in your face the moment we met. You have seen so much more than this poor world has to offer. Haven't you?"

The color had slowly drained from her face as he spoke, her expression growing colder until he almost felt he saw something of his sister in her visage. "No," she said in a voice as dead as midwinter. "I see that you are quite mad. Good day." With a final shove, she freed the door from his grasp and shut it, not with any excessive force but with a quiet, firm click.

Frustrated, Jareth draw a hand through his unruly hair as he glared at the door. "Oh yes, quite mad!" he growled at the door, knowing that Cristal would still be able to hear his words through the thin wood. "You should see the stories I can come up with! Tales to astonish and amaze. You think you have captured magic within these shadowy walls, with your costumes and your tricks? I could dazzle _ten times_ as well with ink and paper!"

The door whipped open again and Cristal appeared with a sheaf of papers, a mischievous smile twisting her lips. "Oh is that so, sir? Well then, let's see how you deal with _this_!" She shoved the papers against his chest. "_That_ mess is what the last writer left. Fix it, and then we'll see." The door was shut again before Jareth could even form a response.

"Wait, Madame Cristal!" he called. "Where shall I work?"

After a small pause, a window opened and Cristal's head appeared. "Why should I care? Oh fine, take the old writer's place. Ask anyone, they'll tell you where to find it."

He gave her a small bow. "My thanks, Madame Cristal."

She huffed. "Cristal's my stage name. Call me Susan."

"And you may call me Jareth," he replied quickly.

"I'm not calling you anything until you prove you can do what you say," she taunted, disappearing back inside.

Clutching the papers in his hands, Jareth grinned. This would be a piece of cake.

* * *

"This is a nightmare," Jareth groaned. His head thunked against the surface of the oak desk. And who brought a bloody oak desk with a traveling circus anyway? How did one even move it? It must weigh more than everything else in the small building put together.

"This man," Jareth growled against the wood, "was an idiot."

The story thus far described two star-crossed lovers and their desperate struggle to be together, resulting in ruin for both their fortunes and their family names. Even being completely unfamiliar with the literature of this world, Jareth expected it was the most unoriginal story ever written. If he had the time to peruse the bookshelf against the far wall, it would not surprise him at all to find a very similar story within one, or several, of those volumes.

"Fix it," he muttered to himself. "How can I fix _this_? This can't possibly be what anyone would come here to see, even if it wasn't a boring piece of predictable drivel." He scowled.

The papers, for their part, lay with unassuming meekness on the desk, looking neither insulted nor embarrassed.

Jareth sighed, leaning back in the chair to stare at the beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. "You know," he told the disinterested papers. "In _my_ land you would never even have been written. Something like you would not even deign to exist. The stories where I come from are so grand, so moving, so rich, that you would tear yourself to shreds for even dreaming of counting yourself among their ranks."

The papers remained unresponsive and Jareth's lips at last quirked in wry amusement. "And here I am, insulting a story."

He righted himself in the chair abruptly, gathering the papers in front of him. "But don't worry," he assured them in a gentle croon. "I can fix you."

Tossing the latter third of the story into the bin, he rifled through the remaining papers until he found the scene he wanted. Inserting a new, blank sheet, he picked up the pen with a flourish.

"But what no one knew…"

"But what no one knew," Susan read aloud, pacing the length of her small room, "was that it was only by the power of the two houses combined that the land and all of its people might be saved from the approaching darkness." Susan paused to give Jareth a flat stare. He sat in the corner, in a chair that was too small and too low, fidgeting like a child whose teacher had sent home a nasty letter.

Susan continued reading. "A darkness that no one save these two young lovers had anticipated and prepared for. They overcame the prejudices of house and rank to work together for the good of their home. Though each had toiled alone for many years, it was only together that they found hope, and love. Their earnest faith in each other at last led their families to unite and, though it was almost too late, prevail against the invaders to live once again in peace and harmony."

Susan dropped the papers to her table with a sigh that could have been either pleased or disappointed. Jareth didn't dare guess. "That," she said, "was definitely not a Jameson story."

Jameson, he surmised, was his predecessor.

He snorted disdainfully. "If his previous stories were anything like what that one started as, then truly that is a very good thing."

Susan studied him for a minute, then gave him a small smile. "Well, I suppose you're right."

With that, the tension between them eased away to almost nothing. Susan moved to the small stove in one corner and returned to the table with a teapot and two cups. At Jareth's nod, she poured for him and added two lumps of sugar. They sipped in silence, Jareth's relieved and Susan's contemplative.

"So you are a writer," she said at last.

"Among other things," he answered mysteriously. Curiosity flickered in Susan's eyes, was quickly smothered, and died. Jareth made a mental note to investigate what had led to such a jaded outlook.

She merely gave him another small smile. "Well, I suppose you're hired then. Not that we can use this." She gestured to the story he had slaved over and Jareth's smile died on his face.

"Why not?" he demanded.

Susan rolled her eyes. "Because the first half is completely unoriginal, of course! Surely you recognized it?"

Ah, Jareth thought. So he'd been right about that much, even if he didn't know specifically which story in this world Jameson had imitated. "I noticed the collection of books," he ventured.

It was a good guess and Susan nodded without noticing his gambit. "I'm pretty sure Jameson _never_ had an idea that didn't come from one of those. Lucky for him that Le Carnaval doesn't attract the well-read variety of clientele."

"Which you are?" he couldn't help asking. Susan's face darkened and he hastily added. "Anyway, my part is certainly original, is it not?"

Distracted, she set her teacup aside and pulled the papers between them. "Oh, most definitely! It will take a bit of reworking to suit the stage though. I take it you've not written for live theater before? No matter, you'll pick it up easily enough, with your skill. We'll just have to adjust a few pieces here, and here, and probably find a new actress for the role of Cynthia, but that's all for...what? Why are you grinning at me like that?"

Jareth made no effort to hide his smile. He could tell from the way Susan was immediately enveloped in her work that she had a talent as well, one that had perhaps been neglected prior to his arrival. He doubted helping an actress find her way to stardom was what the great lion had intended, but it was a start.

"Nothing at all," he replied at last, resting his chin on his hands. "Merely looking forward to working with you." Susan eyed him suspiciously. "Look here, the part of Cynthia could easily be adapted for a man instead of a woman, if necessary, except for this scene here…"

Yes, it was a start.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Jareth did upon securing his tenure with Le Carnaval was to read every book he could find. The meager library that had come into his possession was devoured within a fortnight. He wore a path between his hut and Susan's. She was not willing to let more than one of her books out of sight a time, even if it meant him turning up on her doorstep at all hours of the day or night, depending on when he completed his latest acquisition.

"Where do you go all day?" he demanded, the second time she returned home to find him lounging indolently in the shabby chair that occupied the wall next to the door. It had been a tiring day, so Susan drew herself up haughtily, wrapping herself in the role that she had been living in most of the day. "Rehearse!" she barked.

Jareth tilted his head curiously.

Susan continued past him into her hut, gesturing absently for him to follow. "This isn't a large enough company that anyone can have a single job. I write the plays, I act in them, and the final day before the carnival leaves town," here she gave an elegant player's bow and a cocky grin, "we perform." Jareth found himself grinning back, but then Susan grimaced. "And of course, the rest of the time when we're open, I shoot things." She nodded to the corner.

Strolling over to the low table, Jareth couldn't help but whistle. He picked up the silver-worked bow, holding it close to his face to study the detailed etching. "This is marvelous work," he murmured appreciatively. There was a matching quiver lying on the table as well, full of silver-flecked arrows. Holding the bow up, Jareth drew the string to his cheek. "So light, yet so powerful."

He looked over to find Susan watching him.

"You shoot?" they both asked at the same time.

Susan gave a little laugh. "You haven't looked around at all, have you? There may not be much to see during the week, but tomorrow's Friday. Take a break for an evening and enjoy the show. And," she added, "pay attention. Soon enough they'll be after you to find a regular job here too. I sure hope you have a hidden talent beside speed reading."

"Oh, I have many talents." Jareth grinned wolfishly, but Susan merely rolled her eyes. "I'm familiar with a bow," he added more seriously, but Susan shook her head.

"No way, archery is _my_ job. And I'm very good at it," she added smugly. She cut off any further conversation by handing him a new book.

Jareth left thoughtfully. It had not occurred to him that his writing might not be enough to survive in this world. Though he was loathe to take any time from his reading - there was still so much he did not know - he reluctantly admitted that surveying the carnival, his new home, would probably be wise for any number of reasons.

So the following evening, promptly at six o'clock, he set aside _Gulliver's Travels_ with a sigh and braced himself to learn all he could about Le Carnaval.

As he stepped outside, Jareth froze. Though he had only lived inside the giant pavilion for a few weeks, he had grown used to seeing the canvas sky overhead, the dusty trails that led between each tent or building, and the general ramshackle appearance of everything around him.

But at night, when the carnival opened to the public, it was transformed.

Strings of electric lights lit the roof of the pavilion, draping downwards from the pinnacle in a slow spiral of glittering lights. The paths and buildings were lit with flickering lanterns that cast mysterious shadows everywhere. Signs that were faded by day seemed to glow and others that seemed garish under normal circumstances now seemed to pulse with life. There was music floating faintly in the air and Jareth followed it towards the center of the pavilion.

Stepping from one of the dim side paths into a larger, more brightly lit area, he could only stare in astonishment at what he saw. He thought the transformation of the scenery was impressive, but it was nothing compared to the people.

The _people_! He'd noted before that they were unusually colorful compared to the outside world, in features and dress and mannerisms, but now, _now_ he felt as if he were seeing them as they truly were for the first time. A veritable rainbow of a parade was winding its way from the front of the pavilion into its depths. People danced passed him, heedless of the spectacle, perhaps inviting it in fact, dressed in bright colors and dark, and glitter, and sequins, and feathers, and masks, and carrying exotic fans and colorful balls and streamers and riding animals or walking on stilts or riding unusual wheeled contraptions that he had no name for. The part of Jareth's mind that had been focused on books and words and writing tried to catalogue all that he was seeing, but it defied description, a spirited refusal to be identified and captured by such a blasé thing as _words_.

Behind the carnival troupe came a steady stream of the more normal types of people, with drab, worn clothing and tired faces, though currently they were lit with delight at the surreal show they were witnessing. Jareth joined this crowd, letting himself be carried along with it to wherever they were going.

The destination turned out to be an arena that Jareth had never even noticed before. How could he have missed such a large structure? The crowd filed in and clambered up the rows of wooden slats, pressing more closely together as they jockeyed for seats. Jareth found himself squashed between a plump woman who wore far too much perfume and a boy of perhaps seven who was clutching a ridiculously large lollipop.

He was trying to decide if it was really worth the discomfort when the show started.

Spotlights appeared suddenly and a hush fell over the audience as three enormous animals were illuminated. The animals had gray, leathery, wrinkled skin and big floppy ears, with a long nose that curled neatly between two thick tusks. Jareth's eyes widened. _Oliphants._ He was seeing _oliphants_. He had read about them only recently in _Lord of the Rings_, but he had not known the were actually lived in this world.

"Look ma, look look! Elephants!" the boy beside him cried, jumping up onto his seat as he craned to see over the heads of the adults in front of him. Jareth glanced at the boy. Not oliphants, elephants. A different creature, or just a different name for the same one?

Atop each elephant, held in place by a harness that ran along the creature's neck and belly, stood women clothed in tight, glittery outfits in red and blue. Being literally tethered to such a large, dangerous animal did not seem to bother them at all, as they spun and danced and waved at the crowd. All at once, each woman released the harness and tumbled down her elephant's long back, cartwheeling toward the center of the ring, the spotlights following them to create a pinwheel of color and dancing lights.

As they met at the center, a man was revealed. He was the largest man Jareth as seen in this world, bristling with muscles that were so large they seemed barely believable, and wore only tight-fitting pants that matched the colors of the women's outfits. The women tumbled closer, showing no sign of stopping, and the audience collectively gasped as, at the last moment, the man caught them up, one, two three, until he had one perched on each arm and the third on his shoulders. The four of them raised their arms to the audience in a salute, and the spectators roared their approval.

In the next moment, the three women had launched themselves into the air, tumbling away from the man and into the shadows beyond the spotlight. The man himself moved as if to bow, but at the last minute displayed astonishing agility for a man of his size and flipped backwards off the small podium and out of sight.

In his place, a man in a long red coat with gold braid and a matching red top hat appeared, carrying a long brass staff. He swung the staff overhead and the spotlights swirled through the crowd, but when he stopped the staff abruptly, the spotlights were fixed perfectly in the spot he had gestured. No wonder rehearsals were required, Jareth marveled. He didn't doubt that the man's gestures were carefully choreographed with those who operated the spotlights to create such an illusion of magic.

In the new spotlight, one of the elephants was back with all three women atop it, and it began plodding in slow deliberate steps around the circumference of the arena, while the women danced and spun. As soon as the spotlight had moved on, a second light appeared in its place, but this time it revealed a man on a single-wheeled contraption, balancing carefully while he tossed a dozen brightly colored balls into the air. Behind him came a set of fools with painted faces, stumbling over each and drawing raucous laughter from the watchers nearest them. More followed after them, and more after _them, _and on and on, the dizzying assortment of characters and creatures kept coming.

Jareth could only sit, dazed, and try to take it all in.

Even though Susan had told him she performed in the show as well, he was still surprised when she suddenly appeared. She was riding a beautiful white mare and wore a long green gown, with silver jewels in her hair and woven through the horse's mane. Her silver bow and arrows flashed in the light as she nocked an arrow and drew the string to her cheek. The ringmaster suddenly tossed something into the air, an apple Jareth thought, and Susan's arrow flashed across the the ring. From one side to the other, it flew like a bolt of silver light, piercing the apple and thudding solidly into a wooden sign that one of the fools, now passing the far side of the ring, had held up at just the right time. "APPLAUSE" the sign said, though its direction was needless since those who had witnessed the fantastic shot were already on their feet, screaming and clapping and stomping.

Susan continued around the ring with the other performers, repeating the shot at strategic intervals. The fool's reactions grew more hilarious with each iteration, as he and his fellows pantomimed increasing confusion as to where the arrows were coming from.

Just before the dizzying display of talents became completely overwhelming, the parade of performers came to an end. The final act was an elephant, just as the first had been, and before it disappeared from view it paused and slowly lowered one knee into a bow, its trunk curling against its forehead as if tipping its hat to the crowd.

But the show was not over yet. No sooner had the elephant lumbered out of sight than the spotlights spiraled across the crowd and up to the top of the tent. Jareth saw that it had been strung with ropes, and then came the trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, and some kind of airborne acrobats who plummeted towards the ground trailing a plume of silk, only to spin and twist through the fabric like a contortionist until they had risen back to the top again.

There were more acts that followed after. A magician, who Jareth found wholly unimpressive, a liontamer, a man who ate fire...more, so that Jareth lost track of after a while. He had long since given up on applause or any other kind of response, overwhelmed by the plethora of lights and noises and strange sights. Luckily, the rest of the audience was so enthralled that they neither noticed nor cared that he sat silent.

When at last the show ended, the performers crowding out into the ring all out once to take their bows, the entire crowd rose to its feet and created such a cacophony of appreciative noises that Jareth though the arena itself might explode from the sheer force of it all. He waited in his seat while the rest of the crowd bustled down to the exits in a deluge of bodies, relishing the feel of being wrapped in silence and empty space once more.

Eventually, he did descend slowly, hesitating when he reached the exit. Outside, he could tell that more mad joviality awaited him. He looked once more around the abandoned arena and then, taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the false twilight.

It was not as bad as he expected. The performers had spread out throughout the pavilion, drawing small groups of people here and there but no crowd so large or rowdy that other fairgoers couldn't slip past and move on to other sights. Jareth meandered among them, sometimes pausing to observe one of the street shows, sometimes watching the people when their reactions puzzled him. Sometimes he was an anonymous part of the crowd, other times one of the performers who had seen him working with Susan would give him a quick nod before returning to their act. He felt both as if he belonged and as if he was merely a visitor.

Susan materialized at his side while he was paused at an exceptionally clever puppet show. "You're here! And how are you enjoying the circus?" she asked. She was still wearing her green dress, the bow and quiver slung over one shoulder.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen before," Jareth replied honestly.

Susan smirked at him. "Something beyond even _your_ imagination?"

"Well perhaps I wouldn't go that far," Jareth said with a lazy smile.

"And have you found a talent-" she started to ask him, but at that moment some of the children watching the puppet show noticed her. In a heartbeat, Jareth and Susan were surrounded by a miniature mob, all calling "Cristal Lune, Cristal Lune!" They held up apples and lollipops and sugar donuts and an assortment of other objects.

Susan laughed and lifted her bow from her shoulders with a flourish. A circle immediately opened around her as the children drew back in anticipation, Jareth sliding into the background as well. He marveled at the transformation that overtook Susan as she played to the crowd. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled with mischief and delight, and she tosses her long ebony hair back over her shoulders with all the grace of a queen.

As she knocked a silver arrow and drew it to her cheek, with her eyes she picked out a boy near the front of the crowd. The boy practically wriggled with delight as he stepped out of the crowd, holding aloft his caramel apple. A smile curled around Susan's lips. "Ready...now!" At her command, the boy whipped back his arm and tossed the apple as high into the air as he could.

A second later, it was pierced by the arrow. The children had all turned to watch arrow and apple fall, and the boy and several other children immediately raced off in that direction. "It's mine, it's mine!" the boy hollered, but Susan paid no attention. She had already withdrawn a second arrow and chosen a second child. Over and over she fired, never once missing the mark no matter what odd object the children tried to stump her with.

At last her quiver was empty and she raised her hands in defeat, giving the remaining children a small bow as they moaned in disappointment. "Next time!" she assured them.

Even as they dispersed, the first boy came running back, clutching her arrow in his hands. She accepted it from him solemnly, touching him on each shoulder with the arrowhead as if dubbing a knight, and then returned it to her quiver in one smooth movement.

She noticed Jareth still watching and tossed him a wry grin. "They'll do this all night. It's rare that I don't have every single arrow back before close."

He was leaning against the nearest building, arms folded and making no attempt to hide that he was impressed. "That was very well done. It's not often that I've seen such fine shooting."

She tossed her head, dismissing his praise. "When would you? Archery is not so popular a sport nowadays."

"You seem quite at home with it." He tilted his head, studying her.

She looked suddenly embarrassed and shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. "Yes, well...I picked it up here and there." Her grin returned. "But what about you? Any inspiration?" Her wide gesture encompassed the entire pavilion.

"Oh yes," he began, steepling his fingers under his chin. "If _this_ is the kind of chaotic fantasy we are playing to, then my stories have been far, far too blasé."

Susan poked him with the end of her bow. "That's not what I meant!" He smirked and she rolled her eyes. "And you know it."

He hummed his amusement before answering. "Actually, I think I might make a fair juggler," he said, deceptively casual.

"You. Juggle." Susan stared at him skeptically. "Right."

"What?" He asked, all wide-eyed innocence as he held up his clasped hands, then with a twist and just a bit of magic revealed a crystal ball. "Don't think I can do it?"

Susan was unimpressed. "That's sleight of hand, not juggling," she said pointedly.

"Oh, really?" He rolled the crystal across the back of one hand and into the other. With a flick of his wrist, one became two, rolling back and forth over his hands with smooth fluidity.

Susan frowned at his hands. He could tell she was trying to figure out his "trick", but all she said was, "well, I suppose that might pass. It's not very flashy, but…" A third crystal joined the other two. "I think maybe it's…" A fourth, balanced atop the other three that flashed through his hands. "Just fine actually. That'll do just fine."

Jareth beamed. "Oh it will be better than that. That was just one little slice for a demonstration."

At last, Susan laughed. "Oh, that I have to see! But later." She linked her arm in his, strolling casually away from the crowded areas. "For now, how about dinner. I know all the best vendors."

Jareth let himself be drawn down the street, hoping she hadn't noticed how he almost stumbled when she took his arm. He could not remember the last time anyone had acted in such a casual, friendly manner around him. The war that he had left behind on poor, cursed Charn, the betrayal that had come with it, the sacrifices that had been made, both willingly and not...all left him almost unable to identify that warm feeling blooming in his chest.

He looked around at Le Carnaval, at the carefree people, at Susan laughing beside him, and began to remember.

Home. It was starting to feel like home.


	4. Chapter 4

The next week, Susan brought Jareth to the small theater where the players rehearsed during the week. She introduced him to the current crew, most of whom seemed curious and friendly toward the newcomer, and cast him as the understudy for a minor role in the current production. She explained, perhaps for the others' benefit more than his own, that while she knew he was an excellent writer, she would want to evaluate his acting skills and give him time to familiarize himself with the production before she burdened him with a real role.

Jareth accepted this equanimously, along with the offered script and the chair he was relegated to at the back of the theater. He flipped idly through the pages, knowing that he was unlikely to be called upon to actually know anything about the play, and spent most of the time studying Susan as she directed the other players, as well as their reactions to her. As with everything else he had observed about her, he was impressed. She handled even the most obtuse personalities, though there seemed to be remarkably few of those, with just the right amount of praise, guidance and commands.

He was surprised to find that she had cast herself in a rather minor role as well. When he asked her about it later, she merely shrugged. "I don't have time for a large part when I'm doing everything else to keep the production running as well." For the first time, Jareth thought he detected a wistful note in her voice. She managed the theater because someone needed to do it, but she would much rather have been focused solely on the acting, he decided. Perhaps he could help her with that.

He had seen nothing thus far to indicate what the great lion might have been intending for him to aid her in, but for now he would do what he could to stay close to her (which was proving to be no burden at all) and better her life in any small way that he could.

Unfortunately, it seemed unlikely that he would have time for any acts of charitable kindness in the foreseeable future. After leaving him mostly alone the first day, on subsequent days Susan showed no qualms about putting him to work. At the newest member of the party, he quickly learned, he was expected to aid in any and all menial tasks that might arise. When a lightbulb sparked and died, he traipsed off to procure a new one. When a piece of drapery had come loose from the hastily assembled set, he climbed the ladder to fix it. When a bird escaped into the rafters, he chased it with a broom until he managed to shoo it out the door. (Everyone found _that_ particularly delightful.) When someone was needed to fill in for a missing cast member or even a missing set piece - his favorite being when they asked him to portray a wall, a literal wall! - he would stand where directed. He fetched water and coffee and lunch and pills for headaches when tensions ran high and once a pair of shoes that someone managed to come to practice without any.

During the weekends, he joined the other performers in wandering the streets. A costume had been made for him. When he visited the costume shop, the two women in charge (twins) took one look at him and immediately decided he should be dressed in what they called "period garb". A loose white shirt with ruffles at the chest and wrists with a black leather vest over it, tight gray pants and black leather boots that came up to his knees. He was rather fond of the boots.

The shirt and vest left a bit of his chest bare, enough that the ladies remarked on his odd pendant. There was no way he could explain the old family crest, so he diverted them by demonstrating his act. One they realized there was a mystical element to his juggling, they wanted to adjust his costume to something more flamboyant. He listened with increasing horror until they began to talk about the terrible orange and magenta wig they wanted to give him, and then he decided drastic steps may be necessary.

"Ladies, ladies, why bother with a wig?" He had left his hair long, in spite of it not being a popular fashion in this world, and now he shook it free to tumble across his shoulders in a spray of honeyed strands. He smirked at their identical stunned expressions. He ran a hand through his hair and watched their faces change to eagerness.

And that's how he spent half a day sitting in a chair while his hair was combed and curled and primped in half a dozen different extraordinary styles. He tried to engage them in conversation at first, but they merely replied absently or shushed him or ignored him altogether. He couldn't even manage to ask their names. They referred to each other merely as "sis". It was one of the most trying experiences of his life.

They finally settled on a style that left his hair fluffed out around his head, increasing his height several inches, with a few longer pieces floating down onto his shoulders. He thought it looked like he'd just rolled out of bed personally, but the women called it "dramatic".

He was thanking them politely and edging toward the door when one of them suddenly produced a case full of pots and powders and brushes. Jareth stared at in horror.

"No. Absolutely not."

The one holding the case simpered and pouted and the other patted his arm reassuringly. "Now, now, nothing wrong with a man wearing a bit of makeup in this line of work. Most of them do it, just you look next time. And trust us, it's exactly what _your_ look needs!" She shoved him back into the chair with strength that he thought such a small, ordinary woman should not possess, and then they attacked his face in unison. Jareth closed his eyes and prayed no one, especially Susan, ever learned of this.

When at last they deemed themselves satisfied and a small hand mirror was thrust into his hands, Jareth took a deep breath and examined his reflection. The result was...shocking, to say the least. But not as awful as he had anticipated. He turned his head from side to side, studying the _dramatic_ black lines and colored highlights that had been added to his eyes.

"Well, stand up!" one twin snapped. He obliged, and she circled him, humming and tutting to herself. "It's still missing something, don't you think?"

The other sister gasped, fluttering her hands in front of her. "Oh oh oh! I have it!" She darted from the room and returned a moment later with a black, sequined jacket. "This this this!" Jareth inspected it as he was hastily shoved into it. The entire thing was made out of some kind of shiny material, but only the wide collar and cuffs were actually bedazzled. He supposed he could tolerate it. It was much less sparkly than what many of the performers wore.

"And now," one sister began, drawing him to one side.

"The final reveal!" the other finished, drawing a tattered sheet off the full-length mirror in the corner.

Jareth jumped at the sight, his first thought being that somehow they had hid this person inside the room all day without him noticing or the other man making any sound. It only took a second to realize he was looking at his own, drastically changed reflection, but he didn't feel too foolish. Even knowing it was a reflection, he could still barely believe it was _him_. He no longer looked anything like the lost vagabond who had arrived in this world, confused and friendless and alone. He looked...magical.

The women were muffling giggles and elbowing each other, clearly pleased with their work and his reaction. "Ladies," Jareth said, letting them hear the awe in his voice as he bowed deeply to each in turn. "You are certainly masters of your craft." Their cheeks pinked identically as they giggled some more, promising to come see him perform at the first show.

Walking through the streets afterward, Jareth carefully noted the reactions of those he passed. Long-time performers gave him a friendly nod, recognizing him as one of their own outlandish bunch, whereas those with less flashy roles such as the craftsmen and the animal caretakers sidestepped around him with barely any acknowledgement. Before, it had been the performers who often seemed not to notice him, and the more ordinarily dressed folks were the ones who greeted him. His costumed, spritzed, bedazzled appearance actually garnered him _less_ notice than his normal attire. He found himself standing straighter, walking with an almost casual arrogance. He was already forming a persona for his new role in his mind.

The real test, of course, was still to come.

His steps began to drag as he neared Susan's home. Of all the people in Le Carnaval, she was the only one with whom he had spent a significant amount of time. Others might find his transformation unremarkable or simply the norm for this line of work, but he was surprisingly nervous what his only real acquaintance would think of such a..._dramatic_...change. _Her_ costume wasn't so dramatic and her daily wear was exceptionally normal, he realized suddenly. Even though her bow and arrows were intricately decorated, they were still more functional than glamorous, and the same was true about the dress she wore to shows.

He realized he was frozen at her doorstep, one hand raised to knock, but he could not make himself do it. Sweat beaded his brow. Why did this matter so much? What was the worst that would happen? She would tell him he was ridiculous and he would storm back to the costume shop and demand something more fitting. His face burned at the thought of such humiliation.

"Jareth!" He flinched. She was behind him. "What _are_ you wearing?"

For a long moment he froze, panicked, and then all at once he was completely calm. He turned smoothly, a small smirk on his face, took two steps forward, and posed. Nothing overly showy, he let his image speak for itself. One hand on his hip, the other loose on his thigh. Susan's jaw dropped as she took in both the new look and the new attitude. "The ladies at the costume shop were _most_ accommodating," he purred.

Susan just stared at him. After a few moments, he folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight, enjoying the sound the leather boots made as he moved. "Well? Say something," he demanded, prowling towards her.

She squeaked and stepped back, causing him to pause at the unusual reaction. He noticed her cheeks were flushed. "What?" he snapped, starting to feel foolish.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and at last gave a rueful laugh. "Damn, Jareth," she finally said, and he blinked in surprise to hear her swear. "I can't decide if you look like a fairytale prince or someone's worst nightmare. Mel and Nel outdid themselves." Ah, so those were the twins' names. Susan eyed him again and licked her lips. "A damn fine nightmare, maybe."

Jareth grinned. "So you approve."

Susan laughed again. "Alright, yes! But you're going to break a lot of hearts in that getup. Is that eyeliner?" Jareth winced. "No no, it's perfect. Really works well with your facial structure." She nodded to herself, shaking off her reaction with obvious effort. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here. I know tonight will be your first performance and all, but after this weekend we only have one week left until _our_ big show and there are a few details I could use your help with."

Nodding, feeling ridiculously relieved at her assessment and to be moving on to less awkward topics, Jareth nonetheless filed her comments away for later review. "Mysterious" and "haughty" were terms he had associated with his new persona before, but now he considered adding "seductive" as well. It was not something he had often used in the past, but if Susan, Mel and Nel were any indication, he had merely been lacking the right look for it.

Perhaps this would be more fun than he thought.

Evening came quickly, and while nearly everyone in the area, both performers and guests alike, was in the arena, Jareth prowled the abandoned streets. He wasn't required to participate in the opening parade yet, but he expected a place would be found for him soon. In the meantime, he used the time to study the streets and alleys and shadowy places throughout the carnival. Most performers chose one spot as their own, using the fixed location to make it easier for them to be sought out. Jareth, on the other hand, intended that no one should ever be able to predict when or where he would appear. His goal wasn't any kind of prestige or recognition, so he was determined to at least be entertained, and roaming as he liked sounded far better than staying in the same place each night.

A distant roar let him know that the parade had ended and he began to drift back towards the center, already planning his first few appearances.

Suddenly, a prickling sensation washed over him. He was being watched. He kept walking as if nothing had happened, only the slightest hesitation in his steps. There had been many eyes upon him since his arrival here but none had bothered him until now. Something was different about these eyes. The watcher did not feel benign or curious. The gaze was filled with malicious intent. Jareth was not concerned about any danger to himself - he had more than enough power to deal with any common interloper - but he did wonder what had drawn the watcher's gaze to him and made him its target.

The watcher followed him as he moved. He thought it might disappear once the area began to grow crowded, but the chill running down his spine never abated. A few times he tried to catch a glimpse of the person, but they stayed cleverly out of sight and he was not willing to try a more direct confrontation just yet. After all, it was the night of his first show and he had a job to do.

He faded into the shadows, drifting unseen through the dark corners and narrow alleys as he moved toward his first, carefully selected destination. Privately, he was amused at how the watcher would now likely be mimicking Jareth's own actions in order to keep up with him and remain unnoticed themself.

Reaching his goal, he was pleased to see that he had estimated correctly. He had a clear view of the street in both directions but was able to remain in the shadows, out of sight from any passersby unless they were paying much more attention than the average carnival guest. The watcher was still with him, but he did not let it concern him for now. He crouched carefully in the shadows, waiting.

As luck would have it, a small crowd soon paused directly across from his hiding place. It looked to be two families, four adults and three children, not much of an audience for some performers but perfect for what Jareth had in mind. They seemed to be uncertain about where to go next, the adults conferring while the children gazed around in wide-eyed awe. Jareth smiled.

Using a small bit a magic, Jareth conjured a crystal ball in another alley just a bit up the street and on the opposite side from where he waited. A gesture set the ball in motion, rolling and bouncing down the street with a delicate clinking sound, almost seeming to twinkle in the dim light. The flash and noise, subtle though they were compared to the rest of the pavilion, caught the children's attention immediately. The adults also paused in their conversation, turning to see what the children were pointing at.

The crystal rolled past them, towards Jareth, and just before it reached the shadows it leapt into his outstretched hand. The children gasped. Jareth could imagine what they were seeing. Only his black-gloved hand extended out of the shadows, so to them it seemed as if the crystal had jumped into a hand that floated alone in the darkness. He lifted his other hand, careful to keep the rest of his body still hidden, and added two more crystals, twisting his hands together so the three balls rolled and spun, floating through the air like weightless bubbles.

The children clapped their hands and drew closer, the adults trailing behind them, less easily impressed but interested enough to humor the children.

Jareth juggled the crystals in increasingly elaborate loops, now letting the black sequined cuffs of his jacket also be seen so that the crystals could roll up his arms to the elbows and then back into his palms. His small audience was completely enraptured now, and a few other folks had stopped as well, drawn by the movements of the glittering crystals.

Now it was time for the big reveal. Catching two of the crystals in each hand, and delighted to hear several people wonder aloud when the fourth one had been added, he rose slowly. And then he stepped into the light.

Though his movements were slow and deliberate, he kept a smirk on his face and knew that his posture exuded confidence. Some of those nearest him drew back from his wild visage, but he merely gave a small bow and began to juggle again. Now that he was not limited to merely hands or lower arms, the crystals danced through the air around him as if pulled by invisible strings. They rolled across his body, seeming to defy gravity at every spin.

Now for the fun part. Jareth picked a member from the audience, a woman who had joined the crowd later with a group of female companions, and fixed his gaze on her. Though his juggling appeared complex, he kept his movements relaxed, almost lazy. Though the woman was initially too entranced to notice his regard, he was aware the moment she realized that his eyes were focused only on her. Not on what he was doing, not sweeping through the rest of the onlookers, only her. A flush bloomed on her cheeks and she looked down, then back, then down again. She glanced at her friends as if hoping he might actually be looking at one of them, but it was clear that he had eyes only for her. She cast another glance at him from under lowered lashes, shyly. Jareth gave her a bold wink...and tossed one of the crystals directly at her.

The woman gasped and immediately lifted her hands to catch the ball, which floated unerringly into her grasp, but as soon as she touched it, it burst like a bubble and vanished. The audience had followed the track of the crystal and exclaimed in delight when it disappeared, but as they turned back to the juggler, they found that he too had vanished. Astonished and disappointed murmurs ran through the crowd as they looked for him, but Jareth was already backing into the shadows of the alley. The woman's friends immediately rounded on her, demanding to know if she knew the juggler, why he had chosen her, if she was secretly part of his act. The woman merely stared at her hands, then brought them to her face, her cheeks still rosy from his attention.

Jareth smiled. It had worked exactly as he had hoped.

He had lost track of the watcher at some point during his performance, but now he was instantly aware of him again. He mused that he may have to do something about that before the night was out. It would not do to have an ill-natured spirit following him all the time, and he especially did not want it to turn its attention to Susan or any other carnival member who might be less well-equipped to protect themselves.

He continued to his next location, pondering. Soon it was time to focus on the performance again, but this time he tried to keep partially aware of the watcher as well. He continued to choose audience members at random for his final trick. Sometimes women, sometimes children, even a man now and then when any attracted his interest and didn't seem like the type to take offense at being stared at. For some reason, men were more likely to take it as an insult than a favor, as if he was mocking them. The women, on the other hand, responded to his frank regard with blushes or sometimes a saucy wink of their own, and the children were always delighted to be singled out.

Somewhere near the middle of the evening, Susan managed to catch one of his performances. He did meet her eyes briefly to let her know that he was aware of her presence, but he decided against singling her out. The audience didn't question his "tricks" but he had a feeling Susan might if he allowed her to experience them directly.

Once he encountered the three children from his first performance, this time sans adult escort, and heard enough of their whisperings to realize they had been traversing all the streets of Le Carnaval, dodging their parents, in order to see him again. For his first fans, he rewarded them by tossing crystals to all three, and when these crystals burst, they each contained a candy.

He would have liked to linger to hear what the children said to their friends about him - he was quite enjoying all the praise he'd heard throughout the night - but at that moment he sensed a presence behind him in the alley where he currently lurked. He dropped to the ground and spun, sweeping one leg behind him in a wide loop over the ground and grunting as he met with success - something tumbled over his leg and a small thud reached his ears, though luckily it didn't seem loud enough to be heard by anyone in the street.

Pouncing on the cloaked figure, he realized immediately that it was too small to be anything but a child. But why would a child be following him, and so angry? Wrestling his captive to the opposite end of the alley and into the light, he tugged the hood of the cloak down.

It was a boy of maybe seven years, scruffy and unkempt. He was covered in dirt and grime and now sported a bruise on one cheek where Jareth suspected he had fallen during his surprise attack. The boy was clearly terrified, but trying to glare through it bravely. Jareth did not let himself be moved.

Shaking the boy, he demanded, "Why have you been following me?"

The boy's eyes widened. "I weren't! I'm not! Just came to see, like t'other kids." He writhed in Jareth's grip, trying to escape.

Jareth gave him another shake. "Do not lie to me, boy!" The boy whimpered and...rattled? Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Turn out your pockets."

The boy went still, then redoubled his struggle to free himself. "No! No, you can't have 'em!"

With a sigh, Jareth held the wriggling child in place against the wall and waves his hand over the boy's torso. Coins leapt into the air from pockets, from shirt cuffs, from socks and even from the lining of his threadbare jacket, and into Jareth's waiting hand. There were enough of them that Jareth had to use both hands to hold them all, but the boy showed no sign of fleeing now that he was free. His gaze was fixed dejectedly on the treasure in Jareth's hands.

"Well, well," Jareth murmured. "And how did you come by all of this? Stealing?" He was surprised to notice a few gem-encrusted necklaces and bracelets amongst the coins.

"Them's mine!" The boy protested.

"Really," Jareth drawled. "I can't imagine they would look very good on you." The boy trembled, but held his ground defiantly. Jareth sighed. "What's your name, boy?" The boy set his chin, stubbornly. "My name is Jareth, and if you would like your pretty things back, you will tell me your name."

The boy wavered, then after a few long moments, mumbled, "Hercles."

Jareth blinked at the diminutive child. "Hercules?"

"No, you idjit. Just Hercles."

"Very well, Hercles." Jareth produced a small pouch and dumped the assorted coins and jewels into it.

"Hey!" Hercles protested. "You said-"

"I said you may have them back, and you shall." A sly grin spread across Jareth's face. "When you earn them."

The boy sulked and grumbled, but at last muttered. "What d'you want then?"

"Hmm," Jareth tapped a long finger on his chin as if contemplating. "I could use a young man such as yourself to aid me while I am employed here." He patted the pouch regretfully. "And I suppose as soon as you earn back all of this, I shall have to see that you are paid fairly for any additional services."

Hercles was clearly still scared and defiant, but Jareth did not miss the eager gleam in his eye. "Paid? Wha...what sort of services?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you know," Jareth gestured vaguely. "Fetching and carrying, perhaps a bit of cleaning. The usual sort of thing."

"Oh." Hercles said, frowning at the ground as if trying to reason out if he was being tricked. "I...I s'pose I could do that."

"Very good!" Jareth grinned. Reaching into the pouch, he pulled out a silver penny and held it out to the boy. "Now for your first duty, as my servant you must call me Master. Do you understand?"

Hercles snatched the penny eagerly, secreting it about his person once more. He nodded solemnly. "Yes, Master."

"Excellent," Jareth nodded. "Now, come with me and I will show you where you will stay." He strode off down the alley and hear the boy trotting after him to keep up.

"S-stay?" he asked, belatedly adding, "Master."

"Well, I can't have anyone in my service looking like such a ragamuffin, now can I?" Jareth replied casually.

They continued through the winding streets and alleys until they reached Jareth's abode. Entering the small building, Hercles looked around in dismay. "You live here? It's so...small."

Jareth frowned, studying the room. He stepped up to a section of the back wall which had been left mostly bare and laid his hand flat against it closing his eyes and concentrating. It would take a lot of magic to...there. Opening his eyes, he rapped his knuckles twice on the wall, which then folded in to reveal a second small room, furnished with a simple cot, a tiny desk and a stool.

Hercles pushed passed him, turning around and around in the new room. "How did you do that? Where did this come from?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jareth said flippantly, but he suddenly very weary. Too much excitement for one day? He stumbled on the way to his own bed. No, too much magic.

Hercles poked his head out of the room. "Master? Are you alright?"

Jareth flopped face down on the bed, not bothering to change out of his costume. "Go away, boy," he murmured. "I'm tired now."

* * *

He sat up abruptly to the smell of something wonderful, his stomach twisting with agonizing hunger pains.

The boy, Hercles, sat on one side of his small kitchen table. On the other side, Susan was ladeling some kind of porridge into one of the only two bowls that Jareth owned. They had both jumped at his sudden movement, but Susan recovered quickly, arching one sardonic eyebrow at him.

"Honestly, Jareth, don't you keep any real food around here? I had to bring half of this meal from my own supplies." She filled the second bowl as well and left it in front of the empty seat. Folding her arms across her chest, she frowned at him. "Can you stand, or do you need help?"

"I'm fine," Jareth replied quickly, running a hand through his hair, still ruffled from the pre-show styling. He noted that his coat and boots had been removed, but he still work the ruffled shirt and grey pants from his costume. Rising to his feet with a slight wobble, he made his way slowly to the table and sank into the seat, pulling the bowl closer gratefully.

Across from him, Hercles had already finished his portion and was eyeing Susan hopefully, clearly wishing for seconds. His eyes lit up with Susan smiled at him ruefully and nudged the pot over to him. Quickly ladeling himself another helping, he glanced sideways at Jareth. "You slept for two whole days, Master. S'that normal?"

Jareth stirred his porridge thoughtfully. It had been closer to three days - he'd always had a keen sense of time - but he doubted anyone had noticed his absence until the performance the following night. "I was tired. It was my first night as a performer," he explained, more for Susan's benefit than the boy's. "Perhaps I...overdid it."

He grimaced. He had certainly overdone the magic. The small amounts he had used throughout the evening, combined with the larger feat of creating a spare room that shouldn't exist within the confines of this building...he must remember that these things did not come to him as easily as they had in his own world.

The grimace seemed to do a lot in the way of convincing Susan. She dragged over the desk chair and sat, glancing curiously between Jareth and Hercles.

"Jareth," she said quietly, "Why is this boy calling you his master?"

"Ah," Jareth said. He realized that though he had read several books where the characters had servants, none of them had been modern and some had been completely fictional. He had not seen anyone here at Le Carnaval with servants and had no idea if they were considered acceptable in this time and place. From Susan's frown, he suspected not.

"Hercles," he said mildly. "Why don't you go out into town and fetch me some of the supplies that I'm so dearly missing?" He spied the pouch on his desk and rose to extract a handful of coins. When he passed them to the boy, he did not fail to notice the greedy glint in his eyes. Gripping his shoulder until the boy looked at him, Jareth added, quite casually, "I'm sure such a clever boy as yourself is an excellent bargainer. How much you return to me will determine how much I decide to pay you." Hercles nodded eagerly at the challenge and darted out the door quickly.

Both of Susan's eyebrows were raised now. "What in the world…"

Jareth sighed and sat down again. "Here is what happened…"

A short while later, after Jareth had told the tale of the shadow that followed him throughout his first evening as a performer, and after Susan had made tea for them using Jareth's only two teacups and the battered old teapot that looked to have seen better days, Susan pushed her drink aside with a sigh, resting her elbows on the table.

"I suppose it was a good thing to do," she admitted. "You can't imagine what I thought when I couldn't find you and then that scruffy boy opened the door here." Her fingers tapped irritably on the table. "It's a kinder fate than he deserves, the little thief. People here work hard to earn those coins and there are always children like Hercles who try to sneak up during a performance and steal them." She sighed again, and gave him a small smile. "Still, he was very protective of you while you slept. He almost wouldn't let me in at all. It's not what he deserved, but it was a _good_ thing."

Jareth felt uncomfortable at her praise. He was _not_ a good person. He had only to remember the great lion who had sent him here and all that had come before. "Well, it's...only what you would have done," he fumbled, offering her a gallant smile.

Susan was not fooled. "Of course," she said, returning his smile with one of her own.

"Anyway," she continued with a shrug. "You missed the rest of the weekend, but don't think you can slack off now. This is the last week. Saturday night will be the big show, and then Sunday is moving day." Her grin turned slightly predatory. "You think performing was exhausting, wait until you see what this week is like."

"Hmm," Jareth murmured, studying her expression. "I shall endeavor to live up to your expectations, milady." He gave her a regal bow of his head.

For a moment she looked startled, almost frightened, and then she laughed and rose to her feet. "Oh, get changed already. You're starting to act like you belong in that costume."

Jareth smiled to himself as he collected the dishes. And now his small circle was three.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week passed uneventfully, except for the general chaos that surrounded any stage production that was nearing opening night. That Le Carnaval would also be leaving the area the day after the performance added a special flavor of pandemonium to everything. Jareth found it amusing at first, that they had to constantly stop people from trying to pack up the chairs, the curtain, the extra ladder, the entire costume closet, and so on, but it wasn't long before even he became annoyed at chasing down props and equipment that had managed to disappear the moment anyone's back was turned.

Hercles proved to be especially useful in this matter. The boy was young, but he had a thief's eyes and was quickly promoted to the role of Theater Guard. Jareth agreed to pay him for each item he retrieved or prevented from leaving, but after a while he suspected the boy did it just for the fun of it. His eyes gleamed an eager challenge each time a stranger walked anywhere near the theater, as if daring them to try to move any of his carefully protected treasures.

The stress levels of all the cast members dropped drastically once they realized they no longer had to watch over their shoulders constantly, some even seeking Jareth out during their breaks to thank him wholeheartedly, once they learned Hercles was in Jareth's employ. The entire crew had warmed to him considerably by the end of the week.

Susan seemed to be everywhere at once, so much so that Jareth almost suspected her of having some kind of sorcery of her own. Though she also seemed short-tempered and burdened at times, just as often her cheeks with flushed with excitement, an intense gleam in her eyes as she tackled each new challenge. Though she was spinning faster than anyone, she was also the solid beacon at the heart of the storm. Each problem she confidently dealt with left a wave of relief and calmness in its place.

At one point when she was slumped into a chair, taking a rare break from the madness, she noticed Jareth watching her. "What?" she asked.

Straddling a chair, his arms folded on the back and his chin resting upon them, he gave her a small shrug. "You manage them well."

"Well, someone has to," she grumbled.

Jareth shook his head. "It's more than that. They respect you. You command, and they obey." His eyes wandered across the theater. "This is your kingdom."

When she made no reply, he tilted his head to look at her, then frowned. She was sitting unnaturally still on the edge of the chair, her back ramrod straight. Her face was cold, closed to him in a way that he had never experienced from her before. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked cautiously, all at once reminded that he did not belong in this world, not really.

For long moments, he thought she would not reply, but she then she slowly began to relax again, though her expression remained clouded. "You make it sound like something special," she said at last, in an emotionless tone that tried to be casual but fell far short. "It's only a cheap traveling circus, after all." She stood and walked away quickly.

Jareth sat for a long time, frowning after her. It was not the first time he had said something that clearly upset her, but as before he had no idea what made his words so offensive to her. Perhaps when things calmed down, he would have time to figure it out. If things ever calmed down around here. He was beginning to doubt.

The frantic pace continued to wear on everyone, until at last the night before the performance they had all reached the point of exhaustion, too tired to even snap at each other anymore.

"It is really worth it?" Jareth asked. They were sharing a simple meal after the final rehearsal. Jareth had cooked, and the appetizing result had surprised no one more than himself. Susan opened one eye to peer at him quizzically. Her head was pillowed on her arms, the empty plate shoved to one side. "All of this." He gestured, encompassing her weariness, the theater behind them, the carnival in general. "Is it worth it?"

"Oh yes," Susan said at once, sitting up and stifling a yawn. Even half asleep, the question lit a passion in her eyes. "Just you wait. When you're standing on that stage and the audience is on its feet, and you know that noise is all for you, _because_ of what you did." Her voice was dreamy. "That wave of sound, it washes over you and feels like it's going to lift you right off the stage and into the sky."

Jareth was entranced.

Susan lowered her head back to her arms sleepily. "Of course, the silence is the best part."

Jareth blinked. "The...silence?"

Susan gave a little nod. "That's how you know the show was a really good one. After the last line is spoken, there's a moment where everyone is so caught up in the story that they don't realize it's over. It only lasts a moment, but for that moment the theater could be completely empty. You'd never believe so many people could be so quiet. The applause could be exactly the same between two different shows, but if one of them has that silence..._that's_ what makes the magic."

"Does that happen often?" Jareth asked curiously.

A lazy smile curled Susan's lips. "It will." She sounded as if she was daydreaming, or perhaps already more asleep than awake. "It will. I'm just...getting started." Her eyes drooped.

With a rueful shake of his head, Jareth carefully lifted her into his arms and tucked her into her small cot. He paused to look at her. Relaxed in sleep, she looked almost fragile. He had grown so used to the force of her presence that it seemed unnatural for her to be so still and silent. She was quite beautiful.

The thought surprised him, as did the following realization that he was not romantically attracted to Susan in any way. He recognized her beauty, but he did not covet it. What did he feel for her? Friendship, certainly. Perhaps kinship. He did not think of her as a sister - he had two of those and they were both perfectly wretched, he shuddered - but perhaps as what a sister could be, the kind of sister that _should_ be, in a world that was better than reality.

"The family I would choose rather than the family I am burdened with," Jareth murmured, letting himself quietly out of Susan's house.

It struck him then that he truly was not burdened, or anything else, by his family anymore. They were gone. His world was gone. All that he was and all that he knew were right here with him now.

It was a staggering feeling. He hadn't put much thought into it, not really. There was so much to learn and do that he didn't have time for the past. But really, it was as if he had no past. The Jareth-that-was had been wiped away.

He felt lost.

No, not lost. Last. The last prince of Charn.

He didn't want to remember, but he couldn't bear to forget. His memories were all that remained of his old world.

He needed a drink.

* * *

"Have you been here _all night_?" Jareth looked up blearily at the horrified voice.

After leaving Susan's, he'd wandered out of Le Carnaval in search of the nearest bar. He wasn't sure what he'd found had been the _nearest_ \- he'd spent some time wandering the streets, getting completely lost but not really concerned about it - but it had suited his purposes.

He had not anticipated the quantity of this world's spirits it would take to get him truly drunk. He was, after all, not human.

"'Lo, Suze!" he toasted her a bit unsteadily. Behind her, he could see the sky beginning to lighten through the tavern windows. Of course, she had fallen asleep right after dinner so it made sense that she would be up with, or before, the sun.

Hercles peeked in one of the windows and Jareth realized how she had managed to find him so easily.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked, still aghast that he could stay up all night consuming alcohol.

"Remembering."

"Remembering _what_?"

Jareth stared at her. "I forget."

Susan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Family!" he finally recalled, almost sloshing his drink onto the table.

"Oh," Susan said quietly. "Well, family is important to remember." She pulled up a stool and nodded at the bartender, who brought her a drink as well, but she merely fiddled with it in her hands. "Tell me?" she asked awkwardly, at last.

So he did.

Later he would wonder why he had done it. Later still, he would admit that it probably would have happened eventually anyway.

"Two sisters," he began. "A father who loved us. A mother who did not."

Susan looked startled. "Your mother didn't…?"

Jareth sighed. "She may have loved my father once, I don't know. Either way, it died quickly. The only thing that Mother truly loved was power, and Father was her means to it."

"Your father is powerful?" Susan asked, but Jareth was lost in his memories.

"Mother taught my sisters to be ruthless, to pursue what they wanted and not fear the consequences or anyone they trampled along the way. Would have taught me the same, but I was a coward. Oh, I could get what I wanted too, don't misunderstand me...but I was the trickster child. What I wanted came to me, without me having to bludgeon anyone over the head to get it. But Mother never understood. She thought I was weak, for taking the side paths rather than the direct approach."

Susan made a sympathetic sound.

"Father loved us, I believe, but he didn't know how to show it. He doted on my sisters and treated me like a companion rather than a son, but he was always disappointed when I didn't live up to his expectations. How could I? I was only a child. I wanted a father, not a hunting companion or a chess partner.

"My sisters went bad, of course. It was to be expected, between a mother who urged them to take whatever they wanted and a father who was willing to give it. Then it wasn't long before they turned on each other. They knew that in the end, only one of them could rule."

Jareth paused to drain his glass, then waved at the bartender for another. The man looked skeptical until Susan nodded at him as well. "...Rule?" she asked uncertainly, but again he did not hear her.

"I was the worst of them all," he continued. "I...I was the fool. I thought I could stop them by playing both sides, moving them like pawns until at last they came to a resolution. I told myself I was trying to prevent a war."

Susan mouthed the word "war", her face very white.

Jareth stared blankly at the table. "There was a spell. A...a curse really. Something that used to be passed down from king to king, but they agreed the knowledge was too dangerous and locked it away. Even as a princess, Jadis could not open the secret chamber. But I could. I wasn't a king, but as the eldest male of the line, the chamber would recognize me. I thought...if I gave her the Deplorable Word...she would be able to bargain with it, to force a peace with Jalin, even if by threat, but instead...instead…" He took a shuddering breath.

"She used it. She used the Deplorable Word and destroyed everything. And I gave it to her. I destroyed the world."

A crash shook him from his drunken reverie and he was suddenly aware of his surroundings again. The stool Susan had been sitting on was laying sideways on the floor and she was backing away from him, her face ashen, her eyes wild.

"You're a madman," she said shakily. "Wars and kings and magic and...and other worlds. There are no such things! You are mad!"

Jareth rose unsteadily to his feet, shock piercing his alcoholic haze and making him stumble as he realized what exactly he had been telling her. "Wait," he said, reaching for her. "Wait, that's not what I meant. It's just...a story. Just a fanciful way of telling my history, that's all."

But Susan was having none of it. Backing up a few more steps, her eyes wild and her breath coming in gasps, she turned and fled.

Jareth tried to follow, but he only managed a few staggering paces before he tripped over the wayward stool and crashed to the floor with a groan. "Susan!" he called after her with a groan. "Susan!"

There was no answer.

* * *

When he could think clearly again, he found that he was in his own bed and his head ached with a pain beyond any he had ever experienced. He groaned, peering around the room through slitted eyes. Even turning his head that little bit caused the room to swim before him.

Hercles sat at the table, watching him. Jareth realized the boy must have dragged him home.

"Hercles. Thank you," he managed. His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar.

The boy shrugged uncomfortably and fetched a glass of water. He had to hold it while Jareth drank. His own hands were too unsteady. He fell back against the pillows with a sigh, closing his eyes and wishing he had never heard of alcohol.

He opened one eye. The boy had returned to his spot at the table, still watching Jareth intently. "What? Waiting for payment? The pouch is on the desk, take what you feel you deserve."

Hercles only fidgeted, at blurting out, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Jareth grumbled.

"All those things you said. About your sisters and the war and...and magic...and all." His voice trailed off nervously under Jareth's glare, but he didn't look away.

After a long silence where Hercles refused to be cowed, Jareth sighed and closed his eyes again. "Does it matter?"

The boy spluttered. "O'_course_ it matters!" His fervent response startled Jareth into looking at him again. "Those things...we don't got those things here. No war, maybe that's a good thing. But no fancy lords or ladies to take care of things neither. And no...no magic." He sighed wistfully. "Magic, that would be a wondrous thing, wouldn't it?"

"It's not wondrous at all," Jareth told him. "It's power, a terrible power that makes people do terrible things."

"Not _all_ magic," Hercles protested.

"Maybe not at first, but all power corrupts eventually."

"Didn't corrupt _you_. Don't see you doing no terrible things."

Jareth turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "You don't know what I've done."

The boy was not quite brave enough to press for further details of his master's personal life.

It took Jareth all morning to recover from his spectacular hangover.

Susan did not come to see him and Jareth could not make himself seek her out. He did not delude himself that she, like Hercles, would be so accepting of what must seem like a ridiculously insane tale to her. Not all minds were as flexible as those of children. Her immediate reaction left little room for interpretation.

When Jareth finally left his home, evening had arrived and the show was about to begin. He had sent Hercles there earlier, to escape the boy's continuous stream of questions and curious stares as much as to help with the final preparations. He was dressed casually, inconspicuously, as he joined the trickle of late-come guests that were still making their way to the theater.

The theater was packed. Some of those he arrived with complained about the lack of empty seats, but to Jareth it was a relief to take a place standing along the back wall of the theater, where all the eyes in the room were pointed away from him. He had almost not come at all, but could not bear to miss it after all the work he had witnessed going into it.

Jareth had attended many theater performances, but this one felt different to him. As the lights dimmed, he found he was both excited and anxious. Knowing all of the pieces that had been assembled in recent weeks, all of the rehearsals, all of the hundreds of miniscule details that no one ever thought of when merely _watching_ a show, and how they all had to flow together perfectly...it changed the experience completely. He found himself leaning forward in anticipation, holding his breath.

In the shadows to one side of the stage, he could barely make out a figure. Susan. He could not make out her expression, only the tension in her posture. She nibbled her thumbnail anxiously, head turning as she scanned the stage and then the theater for anything out of place. Jareth almost shrank back before realizing she would not be able to see him behind the sea of faces between him and the stage. Now would be the worst possible time for him to distract her with his problems.

She needn't have worried. The show went off without a hitch, at least as far as Jareth could tell. Only when the audience surged to its feet with a roar did Jareth remember Susan's magical moment of silence. He had forgotten to listen for it. The applause only got louder as the cast appeared one by one to take their final bows. By the time Susan, as the theater manager appeared, Jareth doubted he'd be able to hear the sound of his own voice if he tried.

He didn't realize he was moving until he was halfway through the crowd. He couldn't say what drew him forward, only that he felt compelled to go. Susan was gesturing to the cast, the crew working behind the scenes, and just as she raised her arms to encompass the entire audience, Jareth reached the front row and their eyes met.

He expected anger or derision or even fear, but Susan's expression had none of those things. Here, at her place of power, the heart of her own little kingdom, she merely smiled at him, radiating confidence and serenity. Jareth stared, mouth agape. He couldn't help it. Something about her seemed almost angelic in that moment. He almost thought he could see a golden halo, perhaps a crown, atop her head, but it was merely a trick of the stage lighting.

And then everyone bowed once more and they were trooping off the stage. The people around Jareth began to jostle him as they hurried to leave the theater to enjoy the last night of the carnival. He let the flood of people carry him out and then ducked around the side, eyes hunting for Susan or Hercles, or really any of the cast or crew.

He found everyone backstage still, opening bottles of champagne and celebrating. "Cast party, mate!" one of the lighting crew explained, seeing Jareth's baffled expression. He slapped Jareth on the back and shoved a glass into his hand. "Job well done. Congrats all around!"

Jareth managed to return the man's friendly smile, circling around the edges of the room and skirting the most crowded areas until at last he spied Susan. She was laughing with several of the lead actors, spots of color in her cheeks, her attitude the picture of relaxed confidence now that the show was behind them, but she still turned the moment Jareth spotted her, giving him a small nod. Finishing her conversation, she waved farewell to the actors and began to make her way over to him. Her progress was slow, many others wanted to talk with their esteemed leader, and Susan took the time to speak with and congratulate each of them. Jareth marveled how their faces lit up at her praise.. She really was in her element.

Still, slowly and steadily, she crossed the room to stand before him. She gave him a smile that was only the slightest bit cautious. "No one performs on the streets the night of the show," she explained. "Supposedly because none of us will have had time to pack yet and we need to prepare for the move tomorrow, but really it's just that we're too busy celebrating."

"You certainly earned it," Jareth replied.

She grinned at him again and then adroitly slipped the champagne glass from his hand and passed it off to another reveler. "Though perhaps a bit less celebrating for you, hmm? Some of us have already done too much of that." She had turned away from him so that they could watch the party side by side, but the reprimand in her voice was not at all subtle and Jareth couldn't stop his cheeks from burning, glad she was at least not looking at him, though he suspected she noticed anyway.

"That," he replied stiffly, "will not happen again."

She hummed under her breath, still in her role of manager. "See that it doesn't," was all that she said. The persona faded away, but there was still tension between them, a bubble of silence that wrapped around them, separating them from the rest of the room.

At last, Jareth began hesitantly, "About what I said." Susan stiffened, and Jareth paused, adjusting his words. He gave her an exaggerated shrug and his most winning smile. "Well, I'm a writer, am I not?" Susan's head turned slowly to look at him, her expression serious. "My sisters did fight and it did tear my family apart. As for the rest," he hesitated, but was determined not to lose Susan's friendship over this. "Well, perhaps I embellished a bit." He gave her a sly smile. "Perhaps."

For a moment, something in Susan's expression reminded him of a rabbit, poised to flee, but then all at once she realized he was teasing he and the tension eased out of her body. She laughed shakily and slapped him on the arm. "I take it back, maybe we should get you drunk more often. That was quite the fantastic tale." She pursed her lips. "Though I could swear I'd heard parts of it before. Perhaps some story my siblings read when we were children. Don't you dare start stealing ideas the way Jameson did!" She shook a finger under his nose, but Jareth was too startled by her earlier words to notice.

"It sounded familiar?" he asked in surprise. "Which part?"

Susan waved dismissively. "Oh, something about the evil queen who destroys the world. I suppose it's a fairly common theme in those kinds of tales."

"You don't seem to appreciate fantasy much," Jareth said mildly.

Susan snorted. "Fluff and nonsense. Give me a _real_ story, one that really matters."

"Odd words from one who spends her days playing pretend," he shot back.

"It's only pretend, Jareth," she said softly. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of make believe, as long as you don't make yourself believe in it too much." It had the ring of something she'd said often, though her tone was sad.

Jareth decided it was time to change the subject. "Ah, you've not mentioned _your_ family before." He kept his tone light and inquisitive, but Susan's reaction was immediate. Her face darkened, and then closed down into an expressionless mask.

"Of course not," she said in a voice that hardly sounded like her own. "After all, they're dead." Without another word, she pasted on a smile and waded back into the crowd, talking and laughing through what Jareth could clearly see was yet another mask she wore.

He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Will I forever be stepping on landmines around that woman?" he muttered.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning brought complete chaos. Every tent and building had to be unassembled, and every item within them wrapped carefully and packed into a crate or box or trunk. After weeks with the giant pavilion overhead and the warren of narrow streets beneath it, it was like watching the world explode around him. And Jareth had no idea how to begin packing.

Luckily, three crew members whom Jareth had frequently helped turned up just after he was finishing a rushed breakfast, sent by an ever-perceptive Susan, and competently took charge. They laughed and joked as they worked, easily bringing Jareth into their camaraderie as if they had all worked together for years instead of weeks.

In what seemed like no time, the building that Jareth had called home was reduced to a neat pile of construction materials and luggage. Like the theater, Jareth thought, so many meaningless pieces that together made something entirely different.

He was surprised to find it was only noon when the work was done and offered to buy the men lunch as thanks. They gratefully accepted and after some discussion it was decided that they would introduce him to one of their own local favorites.

As they were leaving, Jareth spied Hercles crouched outside the entrance of Le Carnaval. He had his arms curled around his knees and had clearly been crying. Telling the others he would catch up, Jareth stepped aside and squatted before the boy.

"Boy, why are you crying?" Jareth murmured. Hercles buried his head against his knees and did not answer. "Perhaps you're looking for this?" Jareth removed the pouch, significantly lighter with all that Hercles had managed to earn back, and offered it to the boy. Hercles lifted his head a little. "Well, go on. Take it," Jareth said a touch impatiently. "You more than earned it."

The boy hid his face again. "Don't want it," he mumbled into his knees, sniffling.

Jareth tilted his head curiousl. "What _do_ you want then?"

Hercles's head came up immediately. "Take me with you!" he cried. "P-please, Master! Don't leave me behind!"

"Ah," Jareth blinked, sitting back on his heels. Hercles watched him anxiously, his face streaked with tears. "Well. Of course you're coming with me. You work for me, don't you?" He felt almost embarrassed at the way the boy's face lit up as he nodded eagerly.

In truth, he hadn't given the boy much thought, but he _had_ proved extraordinarily helpful. A traveling circus may not be an ideal life for a child, but it was certainly better than that of a pickpocket, homeless and alone on the streets.

"I'd best hold on to this then," Jareth said, reclaiming the pouch. "I must have some way to pay you, after all." Hercles didn't even look disappointed.

When they returned from their meal, the great pavilion was gone, leaving a gaping hole in the skyline of the city. The clear blue sky filled Jareth with a sense of wrongness. He rarely ventured outside before nightfall, and Charn had not seen a sky that color since long before Jareth was born. It filled Jareth with a sense of wrongness.

One of the men noticed his pause and grimaced sympathetically. "Yeah, anyone who stays here very long feels that way about it." He too was staring at the empty sky. "S'not right, seeing the big tent come down."

And so Le Carnaval moved, west and south to stay ahead of the cool weather that heralded the approach of winter.

Jareth found the unpacking part of the process to be equally as chaotic, though assembling things felt much more gratifying than tearing them down. Building things instead of destroying them. It was not something his old life had let him experience very often.

He was eagerly helping with the theater construction while Susan and some of the principal cast members reviewed their new script, the one that Jareth had recently helped finished, when the idea struck him.

He cornered Susan as soon as he was able, taking her by the elbow to draw her away from the rest of the group. She raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I want to write something," Jareth blurted.

"Well, that _is_ why I hired you," Susan drawled.

Jareth scowled. "No, I mean…" He trailed off. He couldn't tell her that he wasn't a writer, that it had been pure luck that she'd thought he was, and that being capable of stringing words together and finishing some other muck's story didn't make him a writer.

On the other hand, what _was_ a writer besides all of that?

He started over. "The...story...I made up the other day," he waited for her nod that she understood, "I want to write a story like _that._ A story that takes place in a completely different world, with magical creatures and a heroic quest, like nothing that's been written before."

Susan looked amused. "So you want to write a fairy tale."

He wanted to do much more than that, but for now it was enough. "And I want you to help me."

"What! Why?" Susan looked skeptical. "I mean, I need to review the story anyway and I might have changes for the good of the theater, but help you _write_ it?"

"Please," Jareth said, not quite pleading. "I've seen what you've done with this theater, what you can do on the stage and in the streets. You have more talent in your little finger than most of these players put together." Susan blushed and glanced quickly over her shoulder to make sure no one else could hear. He tapped the script in her hands. "You didn't just adapt this for the stage, you made it so much _better_ with your input. Think of what we could do if we worked together from the beginning instead of only at the end."

Susan sighed. "It does sound lovely when you put it that way, but I already have a theater to run-"

"Delegate," Jareth snapped, making her blink at his commanding tone. "I'll help, Hercles will help, there are plenty of capable people here who know how things are done now."

She wavered. "Well...all right, let's give it a shot. Just for the next one though. We'll see how it goes first, alright?"

Jareth nodded, grinning. As she started to turn away, he added nonchalantly, "Oh, and one more thing." She looked back quizzically. "I want you to star in it."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" She threw up her hands, glaring at him. "I can't manage the theater, write the plays _and_ star in them. There'd be mutiny! No, absolutely not." She stormed off, muttering to herself.

Jareth's smile didn't change. "Oh Susan," he murmured under his breath. "When they see how perfect this role is for you, they'll be begging you to take it."

* * *

Two days later, he was not smiling. "Not. Funny," he growled through gritted teeth.

Susan was collapsed across his bed, giggling madly. Wiping tears from her eyes, she sat up and dragged a chair from the kitchen table over to the desk where he was working. Or trying to. "Sorry," she gasped, still trying to take control over herself. "It's just that I've never seen anyone look so mortally offended by a blank piece of paper."

He turned his glare from the empty sheets on the desk to his companion, but that only set her off into another round of uncontainable giggles. "How can it be so-" He stopped himself. He couldn't very well admit to her that he had never written a story from scratch before.

But Susan was nodding understandably. "The first steps of any new project are always the hardest." She paused in thought for a moment. "Well, we have to start somewhere and since this is to be a bit of a fairy tale, why not go with the traditional." When he merely stared at her, she prompted, "Once upon a time…?"

Jareth dutifully wrote the words down. "Once upon a time," he intoned, "There was a young girl-"

"Why a girl?" Susan cut in.

"Because the ladies and princesses in most of your fairy tales are dull. They spend all their time weeping and waiting for princes to rescue them." He sniffed. "_My_ princess will be a hero."

"Heroine," Susan corrected absently, a gentle smile on her face.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, just a refreshing perspective to find in a man."

He frowned at her, then shrugged and continued. "Once upon a time there was a young girl who was spoiled and selfish-"

"Hey that doesn't sound like a heroine!"

He huffed. "Well of course she doesn't _now_. She has to go on her quest and learn how to be one, first."

"You can't start the story with a character that no one will like," she protested.

"Why not?" he countered. "What makes a better story than a lost soul being given a second chance?" She visibly flinched and he peered at her. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, I...you're right. Someone once gave me a second chance and...I mean, I think we've _all_ been given second chances at one point or another. It's a powerful message that will resonate with any audience." She nodded, encouraging him to continue, and Jareth let the matter drop. For now.

He sighed. "A young girl who was spoiled and selfish. Her stepmother was also a selfish woman-" He paused, but Susan didn't question that. Everyone knew that a stepmother in a fairy tale was bound to be evil. "-and always made the girl do the worst of the chores. The girl resented her life, for she was practically a slave."

He paused, tapping the pen against his lips. "But what no one knew, was that a fae king had fallen in love with the girl and he had given her certain powers."

"Whoa, whoa," Susan interrupted again. "A fae king? Powers?"

"Well, you can't very well have a fairy tale without magic," Jareth grumbled, beginning to get irritated.

Susan raised her hands in surrender and gave him a grin. "I agree with you, actually. I just wanted to be sure of your reasoning."

"Are you going to question everything I write?"

"Probably," she said, ignoring his groan. "You can always do this alone, if you want me to go…" She let the comment trail off, hopefully.

"No," he replied primly. "I value your feedback."

Susan made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. He refrained from mentioning how inelegant it sounded.

As the days passed, they slowly settled into a routine, Jareth proposing ideas, Susan playing devil's advocate, and he eventually came to realize that he _did_ value her critical advice. Her questions made him think things through more completely than he might have on his own. She even suggested a few of her own ideas, which were nearly always brilliant.

It was her idea, for example, to saddle the girl with an infant step-brother and for the smitten king to whisk the child away in an effort to free the girl from her servitude. That gave their heroine her quest, for even the most spoiled, selfish girl knew that she could not abandon an innocent child.

And it was Susan who first mentioned the maze, though she protested that she was merely putting a name to what he had already been describing. It was true, his home had been riddled with narrow hallways and tunnels that led to nowhere. His people had been a suspicious lot long before the war broke out and complex buildings had become the norm. The best home was one that only the family could navigate without assistance. It had not occurred to him that his description of hiding the child at the heart of the king's home would sound to anyone else like hiding something at the center of a maze.

So the heroine's quest was to get through the maze to rescue her baby brother.

"Now she needs obstacles," Susan murmured thoughtfully.

"What, a giant maze isn't enough?"

"It's boring, is what it is," Susan snorted. "How many times can you watch someone choose if they should go right or left? Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "This is the perfect time to give her a sidekick!"

"A...sidekick?" Jareth asked, testing the unfamiliar word.

Susan nodded. "Someone she can talk to. Otherwise you'll have one person on stage talking to herself a lot, and that's no fun either. Perhaps someone comedic, a bit of humor can be good now and then."

"Hmm," Jareth murmured thoughtfully.

At that moment, Hercles burst into through the front door. "Dinner?" he begged, with wide, innocent eyes. "Staaaarving," he said with an exaggerated moan. "Er, why are you both looking at me that way?"

Jareth and Susan exchange identical grins. "She meets a young boy," he began.

"Who offers to help her in his quest," Susan continued.

"Much to the king's chagrin, who was jealous of their instant friendship."

"Oh, perhaps she falls in love with the boy instead of the king!"

Jareth rolled the idea over in his mind. "Perhaps," he agreed. "That would indeed push the king into the role of the villain."

"And every fairy tale needs a good villain."

Hercles's head was whipping back and forth as he listened to the exchange. "Um, does this mean I get to be in yer play?"

"Hmmm," Jareth said playfully, studying the boy. "Well, I don't know about that. I mean, you are rather scrawny." The boy stood up straighter, attempting to puff out his chest.

"And you would certainly have to audition along with all the other boys," Susan teased. "I could show no special favor, you know."

Hercles's was nodding solemnly, then paused. "Wait, what other boys?"

"Oh, that's right. Well, I suppose we'll have to make do with you then," Susan sighed dramatically.

"Hey!" he protested, and they both laughed as he glared at them.

Susan's insight was particularly invaluable as Jareth began to write obstacles into the heroine's path. He was very good at coming up with the obstacles, but had difficulty imagining how a young girl might deal with them. Susan, on the other hand, had been a young girl not so long ago and often proposed a clever solution that still suited the heroine's naivety.

Susan continued to divide her time between writing with Jareth and managing the theater, but Jareth could tell that his side of things was beginning to appeal more and more to her. It wasn't unusual for her to flounce into his house at the end of the day, throw herself dramatically down on his bed, and demand that he tell her the latest updates on the heroine's progress.

In fact, the writing went so well that Jareth found himself inventing ways to prolong it, inventing more and more creative creatures and encounters and obstacles until at last Susan had to put her foot down. "We've gone on too long already," she protested with a laugh. "As it is we've got such a variety of sets, I'm not sure we can do it all justice." Jareth had to grudgingly admit this was true.

So one afternoon, they sat down to hammer out the final scene. It was a show night, but things had been going so well that neither of them anticipated running out of time.

The heroine had amassed a collection of companions throughout her quest, each supporting her and helping her grow in a different way, but now as Jareth set the stage for the confrontation with the evil king, Susan stopped him.

"She can't bring them all with her," she said.

Jareth blinked. "Whyever not?"

"Because it's not their quest. It's _hers_," Susan explained.

"But they have accompanied her thus far. Why not to the end?"

"It's just...it's not how things are done," Susan struggled to elaborate. "It's like...your show. Someone helped you with your costume. Someone taught you how to juggle. But in the end, you're the one that has to perform. Not your helpers, not your teachers. Just you, up there alone in front of the whole world." Her voice had gone a bit distant, as if she was talking about something else entirely.

Jareth frowned. "No one should have to be alone." He fingered the pages. "Especially not at the end."

Susan wrapped her arms around herself. "We're all alone in the end." She shook herself and tried to continue. "Anyway. Um."

"Susan," Jareth said quietly, drawing her attention. "You've mentioned this before. Or rather, _not_ mentioned it." Susan looked down at the table, but Jareth couldn't let it go this time. "If you want to talk about it, please, I'm here. Let me listen."

There was a long silence in which Susan would not meet Jareth's eyes and Jareth refused to move the conversation onwards.

At last she drew a shuddering breath. "They're dead," she said woodenly. "All of them. My parents, my brothers, my younger sister. My cousin and his family. My friends. Every single person I cared about is gone."

Jareth wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he was afraid to move while she was finally sharing her story with him. "What happened?" he asked gently.

"It was a train wreck," she replied. It took him a moment to realize she meant it literally.

Jareth was appalled. He had read about trains, but they did not sound any more dangerous than other modes of transportation. "All of them in a single train wreck?"

She nodded miserably. "It was...a reunion of sorts. Some of them were on the train and the rest were on the platform waiting. The train was almost to the station when it…" She broke off, shivering.

"I'm sorry," Jareth said automatically, the words feeling completely inadequate, but Susan didn't seem to hear him.

"We had drifted apart some, before the end. It was mostly my fault. I wanted a different sort of life so...I had no choice but to go it on my own. And then after...well, I still had no choice but at least I was used to it." She laughed, a short harsh laugh. "At the funeral...all those coffins...and it was only me standing up there in front. And only me ever since."

She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder, if I had a second chance, to patch things up with them...if I could do things differently…" She shook herself. "But that's not the kind of world we live in."

Jareth drummed his fingers on the table as he considered her. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"Oh really?" she drawled sarcastically, but Jareth refused to be cowed.

"My family is dead too," he said softly. Susan's head shot up, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she started talking about her family. "We weren't very close, not by that point, but still. They were _family_." Susan was nodding. "I lost everything too," Jareth continued, losing himself in the memory, "And worse, it was all my own fault. I think sometimes...I was only living...because I didn't know how to die."

He shook his head, dismissing the dreary thoughts. "But then, one day after I'd given up all hope, someone came to me," he met Susan's eyes, "and offered me a second chance."

She was staring at him intently. "And did you take it?"

Jareth snorted. "Are you daft? Of course I took it! I thought it might be a burden, trying to live up to that expectation that I deserved a second life. That I was _worthy_ of it." He paused, then gave her a sly grin. "And then I ran away and joined the circus."

Susan giggled, then quickly covered her mouth, looking shocked.

"I think you're overthinking it," he told her. "Maybe this _is_ your second chance. You can't undo the past, but you're alive _now_ and you're doing great things with your life."

"I'm not sure a circus counts as great things," she said skeptically, but he could see her dark mood lifting.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jareth scoffed. "There is a theater full of screaming people who would say otherwise, not to mention how you've influenced the lives of everyone who works there."

He wasn't sure it was a very convincing argument, but Susan was frowning thoughtfully. "Maybe," she said softly, almost to herself. "Maybe."

In the end, they compromised. The heroine confronted the king alone, but knew that her friends were waiting to rush to her aid if she called. After their emotional side conversation, they barely had time to pen the last words before Susan had to rush out the door to prepare for the evening. She'd been subdued through the rest of their work, but Jareth had found no good way to return to the topic. When he tried to ask her if she was okay just before she left, she merely paused long enough to give him a quick smile.

"You just gave me something to think about," she said reassuringly, but he was not entirely convinced.

Her performance that night, what he was able to see of it, seemed less lively than usual, though he doubted many would notice beside himself. He fretted that perhaps he had done more harm than good.

But the next day, she swept into the room right on cue with her usual pleasant attitude. Though he studied her carefully when she wasn't looking, he could find no indication that she was still affected by their conversation from the day before.

"I'm afraid I have nothing new to tell you today," he told her with some amusement. "It's done."

"Ah," Susan said, propping herself up on her elbows from where she was still sprawled across the bed. "It's not _done_. We've just reached the difficult part."

He tilted his head. "And what's that?"

"Now we have to _visualize_ it." She tapped the papers. "What we have here is just dialogue. How do we depict the vastness of the maze on a stage? What about all those fanciful creatures, will they be actors or puppets or some other kind of shadow play? What do they look like? What does the _maze_ look like? Is it stone or brick or clay, barren or perhaps covered in ivy, does it look brand new or show its age?" Susan stretched her arms. "There are hundreds of details that need to be worked out now."

"Ah," Jareth replied dumbly.

Susan laughed. "Oh, don't look so glum. This is when you really bring the story alive! When it becomes more than just a vision in your head. It should feel _almost_ real."

Then she grinned wickedly. "Unfortunately, things at the theater are picking up now that we've passed the second week. You'll have to figure out this part on your own, I'm afraid."

"What? Wait!" He tried to interject, but with a wave she sailed out the door, leaving him to sulk. How was _he_ supposed to know how to make things look on a stage?

He eventually followed her to the theater anyway. He had decided to start by reviewing the existing sets and props and costumes. Susan was clearly surprised to see him, but before she could lecture him about bothering her, he gave her a nod and continued on to the craft rooms in the back. She watched him go but did not follow.

The crew was already hard at work on the set for the next production, a historical piece that seemed to involve lots of blocky grey walls with thorny rose bushes climbing over them.

Jareth decided immediately that was _not_ what his maze looked like. He wanted it to appear vast and imposing, yet at the same time inviting and almost warm, as if luring the casual passerby inside its walls. Ancient, but not decaying. Not crumbling, but not new either. Like...like the feeling one gets when walking into one of the great libraries. But how could he explain that to the crew? He wondered if they _had_ any great libraries in this world. Surely they did, somewhere.

Frustrated to be stopped such a critical first step, Jareth didn't bother looking at the props or costumes and returned to his home to think.

He tried sketching a bit, but he had never been a great artist and his meager talents could hardly encompass the impressive visage that was his maze.

That night, his performance was distracted and he moved in a more sporadic way than usual, stopping in areas he had not previously visited, eyes constantly scanning the crowd and the buildings around him for some similarity to what he was trying to capture. Unfortunately, nothing appealed to him.

True to her word, Susan did not appear the next day, which did nothing to help Jareth's mood. When Hercles showed up around lunch time, Jareth threw him out, all but snarling at him to go to the theater, since Susan apparently had _so much_ work that she couldn't be bothered to spare any time for their much more important project.

He gave in once, late in the afternoon, and went to plead for Susan to help him. As he entered the theater, Hercles, who had indeed dutifully reported to Susan to help wherever he could, gulped and ducked out of site. Susan noticed the boy's sudden movement and turned. She frowned when she saw Jareth.

"Really, Jareth," she scowled at him. "I never thought you were such a bully."

Jareth scowled back at her, then turned on his heel and left without a word.

That was how he found himself that evening, pacing the confines of his small house and muttering about the ingratitude of some people. Thankfully, there was no show tonight. Jareth was in no mood to entertain a greedy, oblivious crowd.

Hercles had not returned, his small cot empty and slightly rumpled from the cursory straightening it received each morning. They boy still had not gotten the hang of making a bed. "Why make it when I'm just going to _un_make it in a few hours?" he always asked. Jareth glared at the cot. So ungrateful, after he had gone through all the trouble of making the boy a magical bedroom.

That's when it hit him.

The Idea.

It was so outrageous, so breathtaking, so _perfect_ that it arrested his movement mid-step, drove all anger at Hercles and Susan clear out of his head, and even for a moment made him forget to breath.

Jareth sank into a chair, feeling shaky. Dare he? _Could_ he? He rolled a crystal into his hand thoughtfully. His magic was different in this world, weaker and sometimes unpredictable.

Well, he wouldn't know until he tried.

Nodding decisively, he stood and studied his room. Striding to the bookshelf, he carefully shoved one side of it forward, revealing the wall behind. He ran his hands slowly over the wooden panels, mumbling words that would sound like gibberish to anyone who was listening. It was a language that no living being besides himself spoke anymore.

At last, he gathered his magic around himself, took a deep breath, and _pushed_, both physically and mentally. The wood creaked ominously, and then began to buckle. It crumbled in a perfect arc from floor to ceiling, splintering away in the shape of a large curved door. As Jareth cleared away the pieces, he was pleased to see that there _was_ a door behind all of the debris, a solid oaken construction with a brass knocker and a large keyhole.

Jareth touched the keyhole with one hand and held out the other, palm up. A matching antique key appeared in his hand. Grinning, he placed the key into the hole and turned it with a satisfying click.

"Now, let's take a look at you, you precious thing," he murmured. Shoving open the heavy door, he stepped through.

His jaw dropped.

He stood on a barren hill under a deep red sky the likes of which he had thought he would never see again. Sprawled at the foot of the hill was a massive maze. In the distance, he could spy a castle at the very center. He spent long moments staring at the maze, tracing its pathways with his eyes, noting its variations throughout different sections. It was exactly what he had imagined.

Still, that sky. Jareth frowned at it. He hadn't thought about the sky at all, or much else beside the maze itself and perhaps the castle. It was the sky of Charn's dying sun and he wasn't sure he liked it anymore. And yet, it somehow looked...right...with the barren earth and the warm brown stone of the maze. Perhaps he would leave it for now. Besides, he wasn't sure he had the energy to change it so quickly.

That reminded Jareth of the enormity of what he had just done, and suddenly exhaustion almost brought him to his knees. He sagged, gripping the doorframe to support himself.

"I created you," he told the sky and the maze and the castle and the hill and everything else he could see. "All of you. You are all mine." Did that make him the evil king? Jareth's lips twisted sardonically.

Stepping back through the door, he pulled it shut behind him, carefully locking it and placing the key in the bottom drawer of his desk. It took the last of his energy to shove the bookshelf back into place before he collapsed onto his bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

When he woke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. Not that he could see it inside the great pavilion, but after a while one got used to the sounds of lunch time. He peeked his head into Hercles's room and saw the cot, still unchanged from the night before. With a sigh, he headed to Susan's.

As he expected, Hercles was dining with Susan. Each gave him a stony look before returning to their meal. Jareth noted that a third space at the table was conspicuously empty, though a set of dishes was waiting optimistically by the stove. Grateful for the subtle invitation, he helped himself and then carried his food to the table.

Reaching the empty seat and the two people who were studiously ignoring him, Jareth hesitated before sitting. "I'm...sorry," he began awkwardly. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he had uttered those words. Susan turned to look at him. Hercles did not. "I have a confession," he continued. Now he had their attention.

Jareth set his plate down and gripped the back of the chair, staring at his knuckles. "I'm not a writer," he said at last. "This play...the one we're writing now...it's the first thing I've ever written."

Susan gasped. "But...you're brilliant at it!"

Jareth tossed her a quick grin. "No, _we're_ brilliant at it. I couldn't have done it alone."

Susan only shook her head and gave him a tight smile.

"So you see," he continued, struggling to find the right words. "That's why I want it to be perfect. That's why...it bothers me so much when I can't figure parts of it out. But it was wrong...to take it out on you. So...I'm sorry."

"Setting aside the fact that you lied to me when I hired you," Susan said slowly, causing Jareth to wince, "you can't expect to get everything perfect on your first try, or ever really. That's the problem with art. It's _never_ perfectly what you intended."

Jareth thought of his newly created world and opened his mouth to protest.

"Yeah, that's just _stupid_," Hercles said suddenly. Jareth and Susan both stared at him. He wasn't quite looking at Jareth, but was no longer looking away either. Instead, he stared at is plate. "You can't be right all the time." He picked up his fork and took a bite, chewing deliberately. After a moment of silence, he glanced first at Susan, then at Jareth, who were still staring at him. "What?" he asked, as if nothing was wrong. "You just can't. You gonna eat that or can I have it?"

Susan hid a smile and Jareth pursed his lips to conceal his own as he quickly sat down.

The conversation for the rest of the meal was stilted but slowly regained some semblance of normalcy and Jareth sensed that he had been forgiven.

By the end of the meal, Jareth had decided very definitely that his new world would be kept secret, even from his two friends. Hercles might accept it, but he wouldn't understand why Jareth had felt the need to create it. And Susan, well...he had learned his lesson after that night of drunken confessions. She enjoyed make-believe things, her role at the theater proved that, but she did not appreciate the imaginary things becoming real. Magic had no place in her life, he thought sadly.

After lunch, Susan and Hercles returned to the theater and Jareth made a beeline for the hidden door. He brought the script with him this time, sitting on the hillside and propping the papers on his knees as he took notes detailing how the maze should look. With the real thing in front of him, it was easy to use concrete terms to describe it.

He spent the rest of the week expanding on his creation, visiting each of the areas that the heroine would need and laying out the scenery, filling pages with neat lines of writing about each scene. He saved the castle for last, and there he got a bit carried away, adding details to the throne room that were completely unnecessary for the stage production, building hallways and adding rooms and floors that would never be seen. It wasn't until he was decorating the bedroom that he realized he was beginning to think of it as more of a home than his little hut back in the real world.

_This_ world was real to him now. Struck by the idea, he stared out of the large window he had just added to the room. It overlooked the maze and the sky made it look like an eternal sunset. "I shall have to think of a name for you," he murmured.

The extra magic was not without cost, however. Most nights he returned only to eat a late dinner and fall into bed. It was pure luck that Hercles was still helping at the theater late and had not caught Jareth or discovered the hidden door.

The day he expanded the castle unfortunately coincided with the first open night of the week. All Jareth wanted was food and sleep, but he was expected to perform and his absence would be noted. Grimacing, he staggered out the door. He made it through the parade with no obvious mishaps, but as the evening wore on he found himself dozing in the shadows. Whenever he reached a new location, he usually spent some time scoping out the crowd before deciding when to begin his act, but now each moment of stillness became a drowsy trap, with sleep waiting to ensnare him in each quiet moment. He only managed three shows the entire evening.

Susan was waiting when he finally returned him, leaning against his door with a perplexed look on her face. "I haven't seen you all week. I was worried you might have given up on the story, but then tonight...what have you been doing to yourself?"

Jareth managed a tired grin. "Tomorrow," he told her. "Come back tomorrow and I'll show you." At the moment, he was tired enough that he wasn't entirely sure if he was referring to his notes or his world.

Susan looked worried. "Okay, but get some rest. Please."

Jareth nodded. He didn't think he could do anything _but _rest.

Susan appeared the next day bearing lunch and a disgruntled Hercles. Jareth opened the door just as the boy was protesting, "I told you, he's asleep before _me_ every night. _I_ don't know what he does all day, I'm too busy being a stage slave." Susan noticed that Jareth was listening and rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, it's not like you don't get paid."

"Wait, _you_ pay him?" Jareth blinked.

"Of course," Susan responded. "Wait, you pay him too?"

Hercles gulped. "Not hungry, got stuff to do." He darted out the door before anyone could stop him.

"That little imp!" Susan said in astonishment.

Jareth couldn't help but laugh. "Does it really surprise you?"

Susan smiled at him. "It's good to hear you laugh. The last few weeks you've seemed so...stressed."

They settled at the table, Jareth spreading his notes across it as Susan laid out the meal. He ate quickly while Susan glanced over his work, then he took over while she ate, pointing out certain areas that he thought might be especially useful for set construction and expanding on others while Susan nibbled at her sandwich.

At last she leaned back in her chair. "This is amazing," she admitted. "The set guys are going to have a field day with all of this."

"I'm starting on the creatures and other characters next," he told her eagerly. "I could use your input, truly."

Susan studied him. "I don't understand why you think I would be any help at all. These fantastical worlds, they're really not my area of expertise."

"I know that, but…" Jareth trailed off, blinking. "No, I don't really know that at all." All this time around Susan and he had never really _looked_ at her before, not through the eyes of magic, but after being so immersed in it lately, now he couldn't help but see the aura around her. His eyes widened in surprise. "It's so clear to me now," he breathed. "You've been to other worlds. You've been touched by magic."

Susan stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said coldly. "Other worlds? Magic isn't real." She stood abruptly, moving to the door. "I can see you don't need my help at all with that kind of imagination, and I don't appreciate you expecting me to play along with your games."

"Wait!" He jumped to his feet and hurried after her. "Do you know the lion?"

She froze, then said in a very small voice, without turning around, "The only lions I know are the tame ones that live in the cages here at the carnival." Then she flinched as if struck, and fled.

Jareth watched her go and sighed. "Such a pity. I could surely use his help right now."

He rested the next day, knowing that he would need all of his magical strength for the next phase of his project. Creating a living being was far more complex than creating earth and stone. He stretched comfortably across his cot while reviewing his notes, then lazily strolled over to the theater. He slipped inside quietly and took his usual place along the back wall with forced casualness, but he could not stop himself from immediately searching for Susan.

It was not difficult to spot her. She was standing in the center of the stage, working through the lighting directions for several scenes. Through the harsh glare of the stage lights, he doubted she could see him, or anything else beyond the first row of chairs. But he could see her very well. She looked much the same as always, unless one looked very closely. There was a tight set to her jaw that was usually only present at the most stressful of times, and the lights, while tedious, were certainly not stressful. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.

Jareth frowned to himself. It had certainly never been his intention to make her cry. He left silently without drawing her attention to his presence.

The next few days he kept mostly to himself. He spent most of his time in the maze world, leaving only to eat and sleep. It seemed to strengthen his magic when he spent more time there.

He wasn't really sure where to begin with populating his new land. The script only spelled out a few specific characters, but he felt there should be more sentient creatures than just those few lonely souls.

He started simple, with something he had read about repeatedly in the books he had read: fairies. After all, even Susan agreed that his story was a fairy tale. He created dozens of the tiny sprites, who happily made their homes in the vine-covered outer walls of the maze. They didn't really have a purpose in his story though, so he attempted to give them an aversion to human interaction. Apparently that translated as biting anyone who got too close, as he discovered the first time he tried to inspect one of his creations.

"Bloody ungrateful," he muttered, swatting the offending creature out of the way. It squeaked as it tumbled through the air, but quickly regained its equilibrium and shook a tiny fist at him before darting away.

The next he tried goblins. They did have a part to play and, learning his lesson from the fairies, he made them significantly less clever and more impressionable to suggestions. Again, the result was not quite what he intended.

"I've created a race of idiot children," he said aloud, gaping at the chaos that he had unwittingly bestowed upon himself.

The air was full of the sound of tinkling laughter as the fairies taunted their new playmates. The quicker, more clever fairies would pull a goblin's hair or pinch its ear or tweak its nose. When the goblin shrieked and tried to find the source of its torment, they easily flitted away without being seen, leaving the goblin to either baffled confusion or, more often, deciding the next nearest goblin must have been the culprit and pouncing on its unsuspecting companion gleefully.

With an exasperated groan and a wave of his hands, Jareth banished the goblins to the center of the maze, far from the fairies influence. The little bugs might be clever, but not clever enough to traverse the maze on their own. And there was no question about the goblins ever finding their way out.

The third day he visited a forested area. It was a clever inverse of the maze's normal state. Instead of walls fencing in the path, the path wound indistinctly through the trees. Anyone accidentally straying from the path would be hopelessly lost. The heroine was supposed to meet an obstacle here, something tempting to distract her from her quest. He knew the creatures he placed here would need to be enticing rather than threatening, to lure the heroine like a moth to a flame.

With that idea in mind, he set to work.

The result was a complete disaster.

Unlike his first two attempts, which had been not perfect but at least tolerable for their purpose, the fire creatures his magic spun out this time were horrific. They looked like brightly colored puff balls with spindly arms and legs, but their behavior was obnoxious, crude and at times downright disgusting.

"How is this going to tempt _anyone_ except to get away from it as soon as possible?" Jareth complained, appalled, though none of the fireys were listening. They seemed to be having a spontaneous party to celebrate their arrival. Shaking his head in disgust, he decided he would have to try again.

Reaching out with his magic, he attempted to unmake the creatures.

The result was catastrophic.

To Jareth, it felt as if the world had tilted on its side. The ground rocked, sky and earth spun together, the fireys howled an agonized protest, and a sharp pain stabbed through the left side of his skull.

He wasn't sure if he had blacked out or not, but suddenly he realized he was lying face down on the forest floor and the woods around him were completely silent. His head was a giant mass of pain and he carefully felt around his scalp and face, surprised to find no physical injury. Lifting himself carefully to his feet, he looked around cautiously.

All around him were...body parts. Rather than unmake the fireys, his magic had torn them apart. Heads had separated from bodies, arms and legs from torsos, even some eyes and hands had been blown apart from where they belonged. Jareth cursed, feeling ill. It was an unexpected side effect, one he should have expected and avoided. He should have known better to attempt to unmake a sentient being, even if he was its creator. He was not used to playing god and had forgotten the rules surrounding such powerful magic, and the fireys had paid the price.

There was surprisingly little blood, considering the carnage. In fact, Jareth realized, forcing himself to look closer, there wasn't any at all. He wondered if he had done something wrong when magically constructing the fireys, that they did not bleed.

Then he started back violently. One of the dismembered bodies had twitched, he was sure of it.

Staring around him with newly horrified disbelief, he realized _all_ the bodies were twitching. Legs were hopping around. Arms were pulling themselves along by the fingertips. Heads rolled. The fireys were laughing at him.

They began to reconstruct themselves into whole beings, but seemed to have no concept of what that meant. Some ended up with four legs or only a single arm or enough random parts to make up two creatures but somehow fitted into one. Eventually most of them managed to sort themselves out and they began to taunt Jareth with increasingly rude comments.

Jareth could only shake his head in dismay. At least he hadn't brutally murdered all of them - which bothered him a lot more than simply winking them out of existence - but now they were even less what he had intended.

Admitting defeat, and still nursing a terrible headache, Jareth headed back to the door and the blissful comfort of his bed. He would have to think of something else to tempt the heroine in the forest.


	8. Chapter 8

He was woken from a deep sleep by a loud pounding on his door. Struggling blearily out of bed, Jareth was relieved to find that his headache had abated, but alarmed to find that a peculiar dizziness had replaced it. The room around him looked almost out of focus. Hoping it was merely exhaustion from his magical misstep, Jareth staggered to the door and threw it open, glaring murderously at the person on the other side.

"What?" he snapped, then blinked. "Susan? Are you...well?"

The question was asked hesitantly, because soon looked most definitely unwell. Her skin was ashen and waxy, her hair limp and without its usual luster and her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red.

"What have you done?" She rasped at him in a hoarse voice.

"What?" Jareth was taken aback by the changes in her. "I've done nothing. What are you talking about? What's happened to you?"

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes wild, then drew a shuddering breath and seemed to reclaim some of her composure. "May I come in?" she asked more sedately.

Wordlessly, Jareth stepped aside, running fingers through his hair and neatening his appearance as best he could. Susan took no notice of his actions, merely stepped inside and sank bonelessly into one of the chairs at the table.

"I've been having dreams," she said after a long pause. "Nightmares, almost."

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Jareth sat across from her.

"About your story," she added.

He wasn't sure what she expected from him, so he remained silent, keeping his expression open and curious.

After staring at him long enough to realize he was not going to reply, Susan began to speak, haltingly. "I dreamt I was there, in your maze. I was the girl. But it wasn't like I had pictured it. I was running, running out of time. There were eyes in the walls, watching me. And when I fell, all these hands grabbed me and I wasn't sure if they were trying to pick me up or drag me down." She rubbed her arms, shivering.

"They didn't try to pull you apart, did they?" Jareth asked, with perhaps a touch too much curiosity.

Susan blinked at him. "No," she said slowly. "But I did dream about that another time." She was staring at him suspiciously.

Jareth kept his expression neutral and ignored the question in her gaze. "What else?" he urged.

Susan's eyes dropped as she thought. "It was more of the same. Things from the story, but...darker. There were no benevolent companions, only other things that I don't think intended to harm anyone but I felt certain they might do so unwittingly. And always, that feeling that I wasn't going to get there in time, wherever there was."

She took a deep breath. "I kept running and running, but I couldn't tell if I was going in or out anymore, or up or down, or any sense of where I was going at all." She hesitated. "And then..and then there was the lion." She snapped her mouth shut, as if afraid to say more.

Jareth drummed his fingers on the table, barely noticing her reactions. Eyes in the walls, hands...those made no sense to him, though now that he thought about it he did like the ideas. Perhaps he would add them. Otherwise, Susan's dreams nearly mirrored what he had created.

"Jareth?" Susan asked tentatively, and he realized he had been lost in thought.

"There were no companions because I didn't create them yet," he mused aloud. "But the lion, _he_ is certainly no creation of mine. What was he doing there?" He fixed Susan with a piercing stare. "You _do_ know him, don't you?"

Susan seemed to shrink in her seat. "W-what do you mean, you didn't create them yet?" Her eyes darted from side to side as if seeking an escape.

"The _lion_, Susan," Jareth persisted.

"I don't know any li-"

Jareth slapped his hand on the table, cutting her off. "_Don't_ lie to me!" he snapped.

"I'm not! I'm not!" Susan's temper flared and she half rose from her seat. "He's not _real! _It was just a silly game we played as children." Her voice had risen to a shriek. "There _is no Aslan!_"

As she spoke the last word, it was as if a gong had been struck inside of Jareth. Aslan. He barely noticed that Susan had gone deathly pale, covering her mouth with her hands. Leaning back in his chair, Jareth sighed, a long, slow sigh of satisfaction, as the name slid home inside his mind. "_Aslan_," he whispered, feeling the rightness of the word. So that was the lion's name.

He looked over to where Susan sat, still in a state of shock. He reached across and gently took one of her hands in his. "Susan, please," he murmured. "Aslan _is_ real." He ignored the way she flinched at the name. "He believes in you even if you don't believe in him. Trust me, if he can forgive someone like me who betrayed both his family and his home to their doom, I'm sure he has room in his heart for you." He stroked her hand gently, but with each word he spoke Susan seemed to be drawing farther and farther away from him, shaking her head in denial at his words.

"It was...just...a game," she said at last, through gritted teeth, though her voice was faint. "It can't possibly be real."

"It can," Jareth soothed. "Here, let me prove it to you." Still holding her hand, he gently drew her to her feet and over to the bookshelf. He let go of her reluctantly to move the heavy shelf. She seemed poised for flight.

She stared at the hidden door with wide eyes. "What a ridiculous place for such a thing," she mumbled. "It can't possibly lead anywhere."

Jareth grinned. "Oh just wait and see." Retrieving the key, he unlocked the door and gripped the handle. He gave Susan another reassuring smile and then without flourish or fanfare, pushed the door open. Susan gasped.

Jareth peered through, gaze flitting across the land to ensure all was as he had left it. "See, Susan, look. Just _look. _Isn't it exactly how you pictured it? Just how your dreams told you? But real! _Real!"_ He turned to her with exultation.

The room behind him was empty.

Susan was gone.

* * *

She ran.

She didn't know why she was running or where she was going, only that she had to get away. Impossible things chased at her heels. Some were dreams, some were half-buried memories, some were things that dwelled all too close to a reality where they couldn't possibly exist. So, she ran.

She passed the small building that had been her home these past few years, but she did not go in. She did not even slow as she passed it. It was too much a part of what was happening, too much a part of Jareth, too much _magical_. She left Le Carnaval with none of her belongings save the clothes she wore, and no care for what was left behind or any intention of going back for it.

It was raining outside the big tent, but it was several blocks before she even became aware of it. By then, she wasn't sure if her face was wet with rain or tears. She couldn't say exactly what part of her strange experience with Jareth had terrified her the most, but she did know it had stirred something inside her, woken something that she had thought buried along with the ghosts of her family and the pain of her past. Something she did not want to face.

The skies overhead were dark and gray and the rain was heavy enough that she was already soaked through, but the damp did not bother her. She did not notice the cold. She stopped running after a while, moving more slowly through the empty streets with little care for where her feet took her. The most important thing was to not think. If she walked long enough or far enough, perhaps she could leave the terrible thoughts behind.

She didn't know how long or how far she had walked before she began to feel calmer and more in control at last. She looked around, feeling completely bedraggled and miserable, and realized she had no idea where she was. She could flag any cab to take her back to Le Carnaval but...the world around her wavered, threatening to dissolve into madness again. She did not want to go back.

But where else could she go?

Almost directly across the street was a large, gothic building. It should have looked imposing in the dark rain, but to Susan it looked solid and dry, offering protection from the elements or anything else that might try to harm its occupants. She crossed the street without being consciously aware she was moving, staring up at the building, and then gave a small start.

On either side of the large doors at the entrance, marble lion statues stood guard. Susan waited, but the terror did not grip her as it had before. These lions were different somehow. They were solid and real, patient sentinels, nothing like the impossible creature that haunted her dreams. She approached slowly, placing her hand on the nose of one of the statues. She expected it to feel cold, but it was not much cooler than her hand, feeling almost warm against her clammy palm.

Moving forward, Susan crept closer to the giant doors, pushing tentatively and finding that they opened much more easily than she would have expected.

Inside, the building was quiet and warm, not at all drafty in spite of the high ceilings. Susan walked forward, taking in the detailed carvings and paintings. As she moved out of the entryway, she stopped. A wide aisle greeted her, with rows of low wooden benches lining either side. At the front, an elaborate altar and a simple wooden cross.

"This is a church," Susan said faintly, feeling foolish. Of course it was a church. What had she expected, an art museum?

At one point in her youth, church had been an obligatory family activity each Sunday, but she and her siblings had drifted away from it after the war. She knew her sister Lucy had spent some time visiting a number of different churches later on, but none had ever seemed to appeal to her for long.

Susan knew she should leave, but something about the quiet peace of the cathedral called to her, soothing the demons that had chased her out into the storm. "Well, there's no harm in sitting, just for a few minutes," Susan told herself, looking around. She was sure there must be someone around, but for now the room was empty. She sank onto one of the wooden benches with a tired sigh. Leaning against the back of the pew in front of her, she pillowed her head on her arms and took a closer look at her surroundings.

The sides of the cathedral were lined with alcoves and each alcove had a statue. Susan supposed they were saints or angels or something like that. The faces of each looked peaceful and perhaps a little sad. She was reminded of a story she had heard long ago, about another room filled with statues, but for once the memory brought her no sorrow. She felt as if these statues were trying to comfort her.

She never noticed when her eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Lucy was sitting beside her, her feet buried in the warm sand as she stared at the ocean. Susan knew something about that should bother her, but she didn't want to think about that. It felt so _right_ to sit next to her sister, basking in the gentle sun. She curled her toes into the sand as well, mimicking Lucy.

"Hullo, Su," Lucy said softly, sounding wiser than the teenager she looked like. Why should Lucy still be a child when Susan had grown so much older? She dismissed that thought as well.

"It's been a long time, Lu," Susan replied, then hesitated, skirting the edge of memory. "Hasn't it?"

Lucy seemed to realize Susan's dilemma and nodded. "Longer than I would have liked, anyway. I've missed you," she added.

"Oh, Lucy," Susan said quietly, reaching for her at the same time Lucy leaned in as well. The two girls fell into each other's arms and Susan found that she was crying.

Lucy hugged her tightly, stroking her hair as their mother had when they were small. "I'm so sorry, Susan. It must have been so hard on you. Please don't cry anymore. It will be alright, you'll see. Peter will make it alright."

Sniffling, Susan pulled back. "Peter? What?"

"Oy now, what's all this about?" a new voice asked.

Susan's face lit up. "Edmund!" she cried. Twisting around to see him approaching from behind her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a three-way huddle, wrapping one arm around each of her siblings.

"Hey!" Edmund squawked in mock protest, then awkwardly patted Susan's shoulder. "Girls," he muttered. "Always crying about something." But he was grinning as he said it and didn't seem to mind at all when Lucy gave him a playful punch in the arm and rolled her eyes.

"It's...so good to see you again," Susan managed between sniffles. "I've missed you...so much."

"Well," Edmund began, rubbing the back of his neck and looking embarrassed. "We've had our spats, but...see, the thing is...well, you've got to know...aaahh!" He broke off looking frustrated, took a deep breath, and spoke all in a rush. "We never would have left you behind. Not if we'd had any say in it, anyhow."

Susan frowned. "What do you mean, Ed? We're all here together, aren't we?"

Lucy and Edmund exchanged a weighted glance. "Don't worry about it, Su," Edmund replied. "Peter will take care of everything."

"Peter?" She looked around for him, expecting him to be somewhere nearby like Edmund had been, but she saw no one else on the beach.

"He'll be along soon," Edmund promised, standing and helping Lucy to her feet. "We just wanted to see you while we could."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't you be able to see me?" A trickle of panic wormed its way into Susan's mind. The things she didn't want to remember clamored to be heard.

Lucy clasped Susan's hand between her own, patting it soothingly. "It'll be alright, Susan. Just...have faith." Susan tried to grip her hands tightly but someone Lucy was slipping away, and then she was fading away, and then she was gone.

"W-what?" Susan stammered. "Where did she go? What happened?" She looked pleadingly at Edmund. "What's going on? Please, tell me!"

But Edmund merely stepped back beyond her reach, smiling gently as he began to fade. "Faith, Su," he said earnestly, and then he too was gone.

Susan scrambled to her feet, looking frantically along the beach in both directions for any sign of her siblings, but it was as if they had never been there. "What do they mean, faith? Where is Peter?" she all but wailed.

The beach was empty as far as she could see in each direction. In front of her, the sea. Behind her, a tall unscalable cliff. Brushing the sand from the simple dress she was wearing, Susan picked a direction and started walking.

She couldn't say how long she walked, only that after what must have been hours she stopped abruptly, peering at the golden sun that, in spite of the passage of time, had remained fixed over head. "Why aren't you moving?" she asked suspiciously.

The beach continued to stretch endlessly before her. Turning, it looked exactly the same behind her. She might have walked miles, or not moved at all. There were no landmarks or any other distinguishing features to tell her how far she had come. Even her footprints in the sand were washed away by the tide. She might as well have been the only person in the world.

Sinking weakly to the sand, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face in her lap. "Lucy. Edmund. Why did you leave me alone?" she whispered. Then, even more quietly, "Peter."

With her face hidden and her eyes squeezed shut, she could almost forget her idyllic surroundings. However, the sand between her toes, the warm sun on her back and the sound of the ocean refused to be shut out. None of that stopped Susan from trying though. She imagined herself floating in a sea of emptiness, where no other person or creature existed besides herself.

She might have dozed off, but then suddenly she was awake, and the sun was setting, and a shadow fell over her. Lifting her head, she squinted at the silhouette outlined in orange fire by the fading light. Then she gasped.

"Hullo, Susan," Peter said.

She scrambled to her feet, shading her eyes to get a better look at him. Though he was only a year older than her, something about being the eldest had given him a confidence and a natural commanding presence.

It had suited him well when he was a king. The thought flickered into her head and was gone before she was properly cognizant of it. _No_, another part of her whispered, _no, we don't think about that_.

"They told me you were coming," she said mildly, having long since recovered from her earlier bout of hysterics.

"Did they?" Peter asked, glancing behind her as if uncertain whom she might be referring to. He turned to stare out at the sea, casual and unconcerned. "Odd. I don't remember planning to be here. I don't really know _why_ I'm here at all."

Susan wryly thought that sounded familiar.

Peter eyed her from the corner of his eyes. "It's good to see you again, Su," he said at last.

"You too," she nodded, and then fell silent, at a loss for what to say.

For a while, they watched the sun set.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" Susan said quietly, as twilight fell.

Peter hesitated. "I suppose it is. For you anyway." He saw her questioning glance. "I'm more awake now than I ever was...before." He grimaced.

"Before what?" Susan asked.

"Sorry," he said. "Shouldn't have said that."

"Before what?" Susan persisted. Memories stirred again, and then all at once hammered home. Her eyes went very wide.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "You're dead." She stared at her sand-covered feet. "You're all dead."

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, giving her a small shake. Susan looked up to find Peter smiling at her. There was nothing melancholy in his face; it was the same smile he had always given her, the smile that made her believe that her big brother could fix anything. She managed a small smile in return, but it felt fragile even to her.

Remembering Lucy and Edmund's words, she asked, "I suppose you're going to tell me that everything will be fine?"

Peter's grin faded into solemnity, though it did not disappear completely. "Course it will. Just you wait." He squeezed her shoulders again reassuringly, then stepped back. "Peter will take care of it." He vanished with the last light of the sun.

She blinked. It was an unusual way to phrase it, speaking of himself in the third-person. She remembered him using the royal "we" before, but this was different. It was almost as if-

"Miss?"

Susan looked around. The beach was dark now, and the light from the moon and stars was not enough to illuminate the area around her.

"Miss?" The voice sounded louder, closer.

"Who's there?" she called into the darkness, beginning to feel alarmed.

"Miss, are you alright?"

The world fell apart, and Susan woke with a gasp.

The man who had jostled her stepped back quickly, raising his hands in a soothing manner. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have woken you. You...you were crying."

Susan stared at the man. He was only a few years older than her, with thinning wavy brown. Though she would not go so far as to call him pudgy, he had a softness about him that spoke of long days sitting in an office. Compared to the unusual crew at Le Carnaval, he looked...ordinary. Yet his face was kind. Susan liked him immediately.

Letting her eyes drift away from the man, she took in her surroundings and remembered where she was. "I must have fallen asleep," she murmured. "I came in to get out of the rain."

The man nodded, slowly taking a seat across from her as if afraid she might bolt away, and resting his arms on the back of the pew. "It happens a lot around here actually." She raised her eyebrows at him and he laughed. "No, I'm serious. It's what drew me to this church the first time I came. Sometimes when you walk into a church, you feel like you should be wearing your best clothes and just sitting quietly, but this one is different. It felt like a place I could come to relax after a crazy work week, where everyone cared about each other even if we didn't know each other's names. It's harder than you'd think to find a church like that."

Susan nodded woodenly, trying to keep up with his chatter in her groggy state. "I'm not..religious," she stuttered. "To me, church always felt...like that first thing you said." She looked around at the vaulted ceilings and the beautiful statues and the neat rows of pews. "This one doesn't look any different, but you're right. I can feel it too."

He smiled at her and it was a good smile, the kind you would give a close friend, not a bedraggled stranger who had wandered in off the streets. Susan found herself smiling back.

"So, what brings you here?" he asked cheerfully, though she could see the concern in his eyes.

Susan's face fell. "I...I just needed…" She struggled to come up with a plausible story. "I had to...get away," she floundered.

"Hey." The quiet word stopped her and she peered up at his solemn face. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. You wouldn't be the first person to seek sanctuary here. Your business is your own unless you want to share it, but if there's anything you need, just ask. I don't need an explanation, unless you want to talk."

She nodded, looking down. She didn't want to talk. But neither did she want to leave.

"Hey," he said again, causing her to look up. His eyes met hers with earnest intensity. "Just ask."

Susan stared at him silently for a moment before asking quietly, "Is there someplace I can sleep tonight?"

His smile returned and he nodded and stood.

"Just tonight," she hastened to add. "Tomorrow I'll have to get back." She shivered.

"If you have to," he replied mildly, pretending not to notice her fearful reaction. "You're welcome here are long as you need to stay."

He led her to a side door and down a hallway into another building separate from the main church. This one had a much more modern feel, almost the feel of a dormitory.

"Here's the kitchen," he nodded to a large, brightly lit room as they passed. "It's stocked with basic foods, nothing fancy. And the laundry here." A smaller room off to one side. "We have spare clothes if you need anything, or just want to borrow some while you wash your own." Susan nodded, amazed at all of the amenities. They really were prepared to take in those in need. She had never thought to find herself in such a position.

Before her dark thoughts could distract her too much, they stopped before a nondescript door at the end of the hallway. "Here we go," her guide said. "This one is empty." Taking a key from a hook near the door, he unlocked it and led her inside. The room was small but neat, simply furnished with a bed and a desk. There was a small bathroom to one side. Seeing her look, he explained, "It's shared with the room next door, but the doors lock from both sides. We couldn't quite manage private baths." He sounded so apologetic that Susan couldn't help but smile reassuringly at him.

"It's wonderful," she told him, and he smiled back at her.

"I'll just leave this here then." He held up the key, then set it on the corner of the desk. He paused at the door. "And should you need anything…"

Susan nodded. "I'll call." She started to shut the door after him, then paused. "Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name. I'm Susan." She held out her hand.

He looked pleased, and Susan realized that his omission had been deliberate. By not giving his name, he had not given her any obligation to share her own. She wondered how many poor souls he had seen who were too scared of the world to even share their name with a kindly stranger.

He clasped her hand in his, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm Peter. Sleep well."

Susan barely managed to keep keep her smile in place as he released her hand and continued on up the hallway. Shutting the door, she carefully locked it and then leaned against it weakly.

In her dream, Lucy had said, "Peter will make it alright." And then Edmund. "Peter will take care of everything." Even Peter had said…

Susan gasped in realization. "You weren't talking about yourself, were you?"

Then the absurdity of the situation caught up with her. "But it was just a dream!" she cried aloud, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Her dreams about the play Jareth was writing, those had turned out to be real in spite of how fantastical they had been. Was it really so odd that a dream about her family would be any less real?

Susan slid to the floor, shaking. "Why is my life suddenly so full of impossible things?" she whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

She didn't remember falling asleep, but she would not soon forget waking. Curled into a ball on the cold floor, she was stiff and achy. At first she worried she was falling ill after her night out in the rain, but after finding her forehead cool to the touch, she realized she was merely chilled from sleeping in her wet clothes. A glance at the clock told her it was still well before sunrise.

Feeling rumpled and grimy, she cracked open her door and peeked outside. She could hear the telltale sounds of activity, so she was not the only early riser, but at the moment the hall was empty. Slipping out of the room, she trotted quickly towards the laundry area that Peter - no, she really couldn't call him that, he would have to be Pete - that Pete had pointed out the night before. It was also thankfully empty and with a bit of rummaging she was able to find the extra clothes he had mentioned.

Safely back in her room with no one the wiser about her disheveled state, she took a quick shower and pinned her damp hair up in a knot. She grimaced at the cheap fabric of the new clothes, and then scolded herself for being so picky when she should simply be grateful to have them. She _was _grateful and felt much more refreshed to be clean and neat once more. Gathering her damp things, she returned to the laundry room, even managing a fairly normal smile and nod for the one person she passed in the hall.

When Pete found her later in the morning, she was waiting on the dryer and engrossed in a magazine. Several other people had filtered in and out while she had waited, but like her, none seemed eager to chat, and since Susan had been there first and showed no sign of stirring, they mostly proceeded with their business and then left quickly. One man had tried to start a conversation, but between whatever was causing his own extreme anxiety and Susan's stilted replies, it didn't take long for him to give up on the idea.

As Pete poked his head in, clearly looking for her, Susan straightened in her seat, feeling frumpy in her borrowed clothes with her hair still drying. "Good morning, sir," she said, giving him her most regal nod.

For his part, Pete gave her a lopsided grin. "Howdy, ma'am," he drawled in an exaggerated cowboy accent, tipping an imaginary hat at her. Susan could help but laugh. Pete shrugged, sitting down across from her. "Sorry, you were just _so_ English there."

Shaking her head with a smile, Susan replied, "I'm just a little out of sorts, I suppose."

His grin became sympathetic. "Well, no one can fault you for that." An awkward silence fell, so he quickly added, "How are you today? You seem much more relaxed."

She nodded. "I wanted to thank you for how understanding you were yesterday. I had a falling out with a co-worker is all, but due to the unusual circumstances of our jobs, I couldn't exactly go home to get away from him." She grimaced.

"Oh?" Pete asked, cautiously encouraging her. "Where do you work, if you don't mind me asking?"

She tilted her head, giving him a mischievous grin. "Le Carnaval."

Pete's jaw dropped. "You're with the _circus_?"

Susan couldn't help but laugh again. "What exactly do you think goes on there?" she teased. His ears turned pink and she relented. "I'm involved with the theater, and I also entertain the crowds with a bit of archery."

"Archery?" She smothered another laugh as he managed to look even more stunned.

"My siblings and I spent some time living with an eccentric uncle," she explained succinctly, simplifying her relationship with Professor Kirke. "But working at the circus is just a job, like any other."

Pete stared at her. "So," he said finally, "I'm an accountant."

"I suppose it does sound quite sensational compared to that," Susan said airily, but with a grin to let him know she was teasing.

Now Pete laughed, warm rolling chuckles, and Susan found herself giggling in response.

She placed her hand over his. "Thank you for coming to check on me," she said sincerely. "It feels good to have a normal conversation."

Pete beamed. "That's what I'm here for." He glanced at the row of washers and dryers. "Say, are you almost done? I was going to grab some breakfast at this little cafe down the street after I finished my rounds here. Maybe you'd like to join me?"

At the mention of food, Susan became acutely aware of the wrenching emptiness of her stomach. When had she eaten last? Lunch yesterday? Or was it breakfast? She nodded eagerly. "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

Peter nodded and stood. "Excellent! I'll come find you when I'm done."

It was only after he left that Susan realized she had agreed to an outing with a strange man. Alone. She was not fearful of being alone with a stranger, but most people would call that a date. She nibbled her lower lip and frowned after Pete worriedly. Surely that hadn't been why he asked her. He was merely watching out for her, as he had since he met her. Right?

But if that was the case, he could have just as easily reminded her that the kitchen had food.

No, she was sure he could not be thinking of romance when they had only just met. She resolved to think of it only as a friendly gesture. At least, until he gave her reason to believe otherwise.

She wasn't sure if she would mind if he did.

When she opened her door after Pete's knock an hour later, his eyes widened in surprise. "Wow," he said without thinking. Dressed once more in her own clothes - thank goodness they had an iron! - and having neatened her hair as best she could with the few pins she had on her and the comb she'd found in the bathroom, Susan doubted she looked like the usual homeless runaway that the church housed, and nothing at all like she had when Pete met her. She blushed a little and raised an eyebrow at him.

He blinked and gave her an abashed grin. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.

Pleasantly surprised by the gallant gesture, Susan placed her hand on his elbow easily. "Please," she replied. "I'm hungry enough to eat for two!"

Pete froze, and Susan realized how her words might sound to someone who was used to dealing with battered women. "Not," she scowled, "that I am pregnant or have recently had any sort of intimate relations with a man, if you must know."

"No, no!" Pete stammered. "That's certainly none of my business, although if there was anyone threatening you, we would of course-"

"Stop," Susan told him coldly.

Pete winced. "I'm so sorry," he apologized. "When you said you had a disagreement with someone...well, I've been doing this long enough to tell when someone is leaving out the worst part of their story."

"I see," Susan replied, choosing her words carefully. "While you are correct that I did not tell you the whole story, I can assure that it involves nothing...like _that_."

"I'm relieved to hear it," Pete said, his voice solemn with real concern. He patted her hand where it still rested on his arm. "Let's start over, what do you say? I think we'll both be better at conversation after we've had something to eat."

Susan gave him a tiny smile, forcing herself to relax. Pete had been nothing but kind and she could understand his concerns, misplaced though they were. She felt her cheeks heat at the idea that she and Jareth...that Jareth might have...no, he was an attractive man but she had never been interested in him that way, nor had he ever shown the slightest interest in her. Anyone with eyes knew that he was an attractive man, but she had never seen him show any interest in a woman beyond casual flirting. Certainly nothing to indicate he would force his attentions where they weren't wanted.

No, what was wrong with Jareth had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with his mysterious magical powers. She shivered, fingers tightening on Pete's arm. He patted her hand reassuringly with his own, but otherwise pretended not to notice her distress.

By the time they reached the cafe, Susan had recovered herself. The short walk in the sunny autumn weather had done wonders for her mood.

The chose a table in front of the cafe and Susan breathed in the crisp air deeply. Pete smiled. "You enjoy the fall."

Susan nodded. "That obvious, is it?" She settled more comfortably into the cushioned chair, closing her eyes to better appreciate the atmosphere around her. "Spring and fall both, really. It's the change, you can feel it in the air. In the spring it feels like a storm about to break, and the anticipation of whether it will be a gentle rainfall or a howling gale. And this time of year, it's got an edge to it that promises that snow and ice are just around the corner." She opened one eye to peek at him. "Is that odd?"

He had his chin on his hands, a distant look on his face. "No, I don't think so at all. I never thought of it so precisely, but it's true...this weather reminds me of bonfires and crunching through piles of leaves and getting to wear my favorite flannel shirt again." He paused. "I guess I haven't done any of those things in a while. I have a pretty boring life outside of work and volunteering at the church." He sounded momentarily sad, but a minute later he added in a teasing voice, "Nothing like working at a circus. Now there's the life!"

The rest of the meal was spent regaling him with tales of Le Carnaval, though behind her cheerful front Susan was troubled. Each memory she shared felt tainted by the nightmare that had become Jareth. What was she going to do about him? She could complain to the management, try to force him out, but she couldn't give them the real reason why she wanted him gone. It wasn't a question of them believing her, not when she could lead them right to the magical door, but how everyone would react to having a gateway to another world living innocuously inside the circus.

Even if she thought of some other complaint, there was no telling how Jareth would react. She had seen hints of his temper before, and she did not want an enraged sorcerer of unknown magical potential with a vendetta against her or Le Carnaval. She shuddered at the implications.

A day ago such musings would have sounded completely insane to her. Now they were deadly serious.

Pete was staring at her and she realized she had fallen silent at some point. She blushed. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He shook his head. "It's not important." Then he added casually, "So, this person you had the disagreement with, he also works at the circus?"

She nodded distractedly, then frowned at him. "I never said it was...well, I suppose it's too late to deny it now. Yes, _he_ is...was...my partner."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Was?"

She sighed. "I've been thinking about it. I don't know how I can go back to work with him. I don't want to deal with him anymore, but it would be trouble if I tried to make him leave. I'm sorry, it's complicated and I don't want to go into the details." Pete nodded understandingly at that. "But the circus is too small, too self-contained, for me to do anything else there without encountering him on a regular basis. I think my only solution...is to leave."

Saying it out loud brought an ache to her heart. Le Carnaval had been her first real home in America. At the same time, a weight lifted from her shoulders now that she had made a decision.

Pete missed nothing. He didn't try to give her advice or change her mind, only listened and asked questions. "What will you do? Will you go back to, er, England?"

Susan's face darkened. "No," she said sadly. "There's nothing for me there." She considered the question, staring down the street without seeing it.

The circus would move on soon. She had been to many places as she traveled with it, but had not really explored any of them. Her life, her whole world, had been contained inside the big tent.

"Here seems nice. Maybe I'll stay here." She smiled at him. "Nice people."

He grinned at her. "Exactly how many people have you met?"

"One."

He laughed. "You're serious? You really want to stay here?"

She gave a little shrug. "Why not? It's as good a place as any." 

"We don't have much in the way of local theater," he warned.

Susan frowned at that. "That's fine with me," she said slowly. "No, really. I think I'd like to try something else." And when he realized she wasn't coming back, Jareth might be watching the theaters, waiting for her to reappear somewhere. "Only...I haven't _done_ anything else."

Pete hummed to himself thoughtfully. "Well, you seem like you've had a good education. True?" She nodded. "College?"

"No," she confessed. "It didn't seem necessary. Once I had my first theater job, they all looked at what I could do rather than what I'd been taught."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Plenty of secretarial jobs around. Most of those only care about a pretty face and you've got that covered." She raised an eyebrow and he flushed. "I mean, that is...say, I don't usually do this but," he began patting his coat pockets, withdrawing a business card from one of them, "My accounting firm is actually looking for a couple of secretaries. The pay's decent, though I don't know how it will compare with what you make at a circus, and I can guarantee my boss isn't a sleazeball."

Susan took the proffered card and studied it. It wasn't her ideal idea of a job, but it would suit her current needs and was certainly a place to start. "Thank you," she told him gratefully, then gave him a sly grin. "Do you offer jobs to all the ladies who wander into your sanctuary?"

It amused her how his ears always changed to a brighter shade of red than the rest of his face. He laughed awkwardly. "No, this is definitely a first. Most people who I see aren't...well...they need a different kind of help than I can give them." He looked troubled. "It's rare to have someone like you who really just needs a bit of luck finding a new job."

She smiled. "Well, lucky me that it was you who found me."

The rest of their breakfast proceeded with only light-hearted banter, other then a minor skirmish at the end when the check arrived. Susan felt that paying for the meal was the least she could do to thank him for his help, but Pete insisted that he would do it since he had issued the invitation. In the end, they each covered their own portion and Pete escorted her back to her room before departing to handle the rest of his duties.

Much of the rest of Susan's day was spent in writing a letter to Le Carnaval. She need to officially submit her resignation and she felt she owed them an explanation for her abrupt departure. It would be a hardship to maintain the theater when they had had no warning that she was leaving and no replacement lined up. Her reason had to be critical enough that they would, hopefully, understand the urgency, but not so much that they felt the need to seek her out to ensure she was alright.

In the end, she settled on a family emergency. It would imply that she had left the country, since everyone knew of her origins, and would also be easily believable to everyone except Jareth. He was the only one who knew of her tragic family history, but _he_ would know that _she _knew that and it would, she hoped, make his trickster's mind think she hidden plans where she really had none. She didn't care what he thought as long as it made him hesitate before calling her bluff to the managers.

She thought about writing a second letter to be given to Jareth, but she couldn't do it. Whoever he really was, whatever his intention was in seeking out Le Carnaval, she wanted nothing to do with it. No, a clean break was best.

She also tried to make a list of the items she would like to reclaim from her small home at the circus, but in the end found that very little of it would have any place in the life of an ordinary secretary at a small-town accounting firm.

So it was only her letter of resignation that she handed to a nondescript volunteer to be delivered to Le Carnaval. She had thought about asking Pete to do it, but didn't want to take the chance that he would speculate about which co-worker had driven her away while he was there. Instead, the man playing messenger knew nothing about her or about the letter he was delivering. He would drop it off and leave with no further dawdling or concerns.

As the man disappeared from sight, Susan returned to her room and sat heavily on the bed. "It's done," she murmured aloud. Just like that, her life with the circus was over.


	10. Chapter 10

Susan spent the next week looking over her shoulder. By now, her absence would have long since been noticed and the managers would have been forced to announce that she was gone. She imagined how the theater crew would grumble when she missed the first day of work, then turn to concern on the second day. The theater wouldn't function for long without her. She wondered how long it took Jareth to find out. Probably not long. Hercles would have gone looking for her very quickly, and likely told Jareth as soon as he couldn't find her. As long as the circus remained in town, she worried about someone tracking her down.

She read in the papers about the spectacular performance at Le Carnaval's final show before it left town as quickly and with as little fanfare as usual. There was no mention of anything unusual about the show, but how would they have known? She was almost surprised to find that the departure had happened so quietly and smoothly. To her, it had always been a chaotic jumble that dominated her life. Children cheered when they arrived and cried when they left. But in the world of businessmen and other ordinary folks, it merited only a minor mention in the news.

In spite of her paranoia, she had not spent the week hiding idly in her room. She called Pete's firm immediately and had an interview arranged the next day. Though a bit leery of her unusual circumstances, they were impressed enough with her poise and professional attitude that she received a call by the end of the week from Mr. Parsh, one of the firm's partners, offering her one of the available positions, which she accepted with alacrity.

While waiting at the office prior to the interview, a young woman with curly blonde hair had sidled up to Susan and introduced herself as Colleen. She was also interviewing for a secretary job. "Good thing they have more than one opening or we'd be rivals," she joked.

Susan, nervous about the upcoming interview, had been in no mood for small talk and had only offered the girl a tight smile. Colleen didn't seem bothered though, continuing to chatter in spite of Susan's lackadaisical responses. Susan had let the words wash over her as she fretted, but somehow they did make her calmer. When she finished her interview, Colleen was still waiting, looking exceptionally more nervous now that she was alone in the waiting room. Relieved at her own successful interview, Susan clasped the girl's hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "Good luck," Susan told her. "Don't worry, they don't bite."

Surprised by Susan's sudden warmth, Colleen broke into a wide smile, then gulped as her name was called.

Susan wondered if Colleen had been offered a job as well. By the time her new boss had finished discussing when she could start and what might need to do to prepare for her first day, Susan had recovered from her giddiness enough to ask him if any other girls had been hired. She was delighted to hear Colleen's name and said as much. Mr. Parsh was pleased to hear that two of his new hires were acquainted and would likely have no difficulties working together. Susan judged from his tone that there had been problems in the past. She knew all too well how catty some women could be. Hopefully, her first impression of Colleen was correct.

Sunday she attended the church service with Pete. Surprisingly, not everyone at the shelter did. Susan felt it was the least she could do after everything they had given her.

Though she waited until the last minute, intending to slip into a seat in the back, there were still quite a few people milling around the entrance. She had carefully circled the building so she could enter through the main entrance like everyone else, but she was immediately greeted by several long-time church members. When she introduced herself as a friend of Pete's, saying that they met through work rather than through her unusual circumstances and making no mention of how she was living down the hall, they waxed enthusiastically about what a nice man Pete was. She also confessed that she had not been to a church service in a very long time, which was how she found herself seated near the front instead of the back of the church, next to an elderly couple who had generously invited her to sit with them in case she had any questions during the service.

Susan had felt a number of curious eyes on her as she entered. Clearly this congregation was familiar with its regular members and had noted the presence of a guest. Still, the attention did not bother Susan. Nothing in it felt malicious and her quick glance across the room as she was led down the aisle by her guides revealed lots of smiling faces and friendly nods. She didn't spy Pete anywhere as she didn't want to spend too much time staring around at everyone, but she was sure he would find her later.

Susan remembered being often bored in church when she was younger, but this time from the moment she sat down she felt a gentle peace wash over her. Surrounded by strangers who genuinely cared for her, even though they didn't know a thing about her, she felt more at home than she had since...well, since she had in a long time, anyway.

The service itself was simple, filled with music. Susan held the worn Bible and hymnal for her companions as the woman pointed out the correct passages for Susan to follow along. She sang along softly, enjoying the simple songs. She mouthed words that she didn't entirely understand. But she wanted to. She wanted to be more than merely a visitor in this place where friendship and peace and love were a tangible presence.

Afterwards, a number of people came over to introduce themselves. Susan smiled and laughed and spoke easily with them as if meeting long-lost relatives. When Pete at last appeared at her elbow, she embraced him in a hug before quickly drawing back with a slight blush. Pete also flushed, tugging awkwardly at his tie as he gave her a grin, but none of those around them seemed to think her enthusiastic greeting was anything untoward.

Another week passed. Susan settled into her job. She shared the main desk with Colleen but also worked as Mr. Parsh's personal assistant. Colleen was assigned to Pete, or Mr. Williams as she called him. "It's fine for _you_ to call him Pete," she had told Susan. "He's not _your_ direct boss." Colleen turned out to be as lovely as Susan hoped, reminding her a little of her sister Lucy in that she was almost always cheerful and it took a lot to make a dent in her sunny attitude. They ate lunch together most days, sampling the various eateries near the office. It felt odd at first, to have a female friend after all these years. She'd had no real friends at Le Carnaval, only friendly acquaintances. Unless you counted Jareth, which she wasn't sure she did.

The next Sunday saw her back at church. Though it was only her second time attending, she was able to greet a number of people who remembered her and welcomed her back warmly. Less overwhelmed this time, she listened carefully throughout the service as the pastor spoke of God and forgiveness and accepting Jesus into your life. It sounded at once too complicated and too simple to Susan, yet she craved the peace that she found when she sat in the pew each week. She sought out Pete immediately after the service.

"How do I learn more?" she asked. His face lit up. He immediately introduced her to the pastor, a jovial middle-aged man who insisted she call him Bruce with no extra titles or formality, and handed her a flyer about Sunday School classes. Susan remembered Sunday School as being a way for parents to get their children out of their hair while they socialized on Sundays, but it turned out that they had adult classes as well, some of which were specifically geared at educating newcomers such as Susan. Clasping the flyer to her chest, she promised to arrive early the following week to join the class.

The next week brought another type of celebration as well, as she and Colleen received their first paychecks. They decided to go out on the town to celebrate, an expedition that was quickly expanded when Susan mentioned that she would love to thank Pete for getting her the interview and Colleen brought up a boyfriend who had helped support her while she was unemployed. Both men agreed eagerly to the outing, though Susan hastened to explain to Pete that it was a thank you on her part rather than a double date.

Pete just replied with a bashful shrug and told her, "I'd have said yes either way." He pretended not to notice her startled stare, but he left quickly after that and she did not fail to notice how red his ears had gone.

They started with an early dinner at an upscale restaurant. It wasn't too fancy, since neither Susan or Colleen had enough extra spending money to afford fancy dress clothes just yet, but it was a definite step up from the diners they'd been frequenting for lunch. Pete met Susan at her door and they walked the short distance to the restaurant together, enjoying the cool evening. Colleen's boyfriend, Henry, turned out to be pleasant gentleman with a clean-cut manner that made him seem younger than he really was. He reminded Susan a bit of Edmund and she liked him immediately.

She did have a bad moment when she realized she had associated each of her dinner companions with one of her lost siblings, but Pete's hand on hers when he noticed the change in her mood and the congenial chatter that continued between Colleen and Henry soon soothed her. She gave Pete a small smile and a nod to let him know she was okay, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Neither of them acknowledged that they left their hands clasped together for some time, though Susan at least was aware of every moment.

After dinner, they went to a club that Henry was familiar with. It was nothing wild, he assured them, just a good place for dancing. The latter certainly proved true, as they were met with a wall of music as soon as they stepped inside. Henry immediately swept Colleen into the crowd where the two danced with as much enthusiasm as they seemed to do everything else in their lives.

Susan and Pete squeezed through the crowd until they found a small table. It was too loud for much conversation, but Susan was happy to sit with her new friend, sipping drinks and letting the buoyancy of the crowd and the music wash over her. She wondered if this was what it was like to be in the audience at Le Carnaval.

Thinking of the circus made her a little sad and Pete, who seemed to have been watching her intently for some time, noticed immediately. Leaning closer, he yelled over the noise, "Do you want to dance?"

Susan smiled and started to shake her head, but at that moment a Colleen-sized ball of energy rocketed in and collapsed across the table, before seizing both of them. "Come on, come on, I _love _this song! Come dance!" her friend squealed, dragging them away from the table.

Susan and Pete exchanged a glance and a shrug before giving in. Colleen and Henry whirled around them, gliding to the fast-paced music with practiced ease, while Susan moved much more awkwardly, attempting to copy the moves of the other dancers around her. She had never danced to any music that was anything like this! She realized Pete was doing the same thing at the same moment that he noticed it about her. They laughed together, Susan calling on her years of acting to ham it up and invent a goofy dance the Pete mimicked with exaggerated motions. They were both out of breath with tears of merriment in their eyes by the time the song ended.

A slow song came on next and they danced that one too, with more confidence and considerably less silliness. She was aware of Pete's hands on her waist and hers around his shoulders, but neither spoke throughout the duration of the song. As it drew to a close, Susan caught a glimpse of Colleen watching them from across the floor with a small smirk. Susan rolled her eyes at her friend and decided perhaps it was time to call it a night.

Unsurprisingly, Colleen and Henry elected to stay at the club longer, shooting each other blushing glances that made it very obvious to Susan how they intended to end their evening. "Enjoy yourselves," she told them with a wink, taking Pete's hand to quickly lead him outside before Colleen could reply with something that Susan was sure would be completely inappropriate.

As she strolled slowly down the sidewalk, arm in arm with Pete, Susan breathed in the cool night air deeply. "It's been a long time since I went out dancing. I'd forgotten how fun it can be," she told him.

He glanced at her and chuckled a little. "It, ah, it was my first time," he confessed. "I used to have some friends that would go out every weekend, but they always made it sound so chaotic, more like a drunken frat party. Just...not really my type of thing." He was staring at something and Susan noticed the church in the distance.

About to tease him for being such a good boy, she realized abruptly that he must have already had his fill of such jokes. He had stood by his beliefs even under peer pressure, and she respected that about him. "I know what you mean," she murmured. "Most of the girls I knew were so frivolous. It was fun at first, giggling about clothes and makeup and boys, but sometimes it went too far. It quit being fun and became something mean." She winced to think that at one time she had sought out such shallow friends rather than dwell too deeply on life.

They had reached the church courtyard and he stopped, facing her. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "I had a really great time tonight. It's been a while out anywhere and felt like I could just be myself, without having to get drunk or leer at women or…" He broke off, rubbing his neck. "Well, anyway. I'm not like those guys. And here we are doing it all backwards. I should have asked _you_ out and you should be telling _me_ you had a nice time."

Susan's heart leapt at his phrasing. He _was _treating it like a date. She laughed softly. "We'll just have to do it properly next time."

She could see his eyebrows raise, his face lit only by the light of the street lamps, as he tilted his head towards her. "Next time?"

She nodded, stepping closer, her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket. "But for now, since I started this, I suppose I should continue as I've begun." She paused for a long moment, waiting to see how he would react, but he didn't move and she couldn't read his expression in darkness. So she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his. It was just a brief kiss, but when she drew back, his hand came up to caress her cheek and she leaned into the touch.

"Good night, Pete," she whispered.

"Good night, Susan."


	11. Chapter 11

Time passed. Susan and Colleen moved into an apartment together. Susan continued to see Pete, often on double dates with Colleen and Henry, now with no doubt that they were definitely dating. When Henry finally popped the question, Colleen's first act (after saying yes) was to beg Susan to be her maid of honor. Susan readily agreed, adding that she knew the perfect venue.

Susan's love for her church and her faith in God had continued to grow. Though she had never pressed her friend about attending, she was delighted to be able to share an important part of her life with Colleen. Colleen, though a spiritual person, had never become as enamored with regular church attendance the way Susan had. Still, Susan spoke earnestly to Pastor Bruce, and after a private discussion with Colleen about her beliefs and Henry's, he agreed to officiate the ceremony.

During the ceremony, she noted Pete's gaze upon her more often than he looked at the bride and groom. She felt a flutter in her chest and knew that it would soon be her turn to stand before the altar.

Sure enough, Pete proposed a few months later, and the following year it was Colleen's turn to stand as maid of honor for Susan. Susan's only sorrow that day was that her family could not be there to celebrate with her. It was an old pain and one that she knew would never completely fade, but surrounded by her new husband, her friends and her church family, it faded to a distant ache, like that of an old injury.

Another year passed, bringing both new joys and new sorrows. Susan and Colleen gave birth to girls within weeks of each other, laughing when they named the girls Sarah and Sara without any discussion between them, and had three blissful months of daydreaming about how their children would grow up as close as sisters, but then Henry received a promotion that took their family out of state. The friends said sorrowful farewells and promised to keep in touch. Tentative plans were made to meet each summer.

Though her daughter filled many of her hours, Susan was bereft without her best friend and threw herself into supporting the church in any way that she could. She started a daycare that operated every Sunday and soon expanded to several weekdays when those taking shelter at the church needed to leave for work or job interviews and needed a safe place for their children to wait.

Pete also received a promotion, though thankfully his was within the firm and did not require them to relocate. Now a full partner, he was easily able to support their small family without the need for Susan to return to the workforce. They even had enough disposable income to become a charitable force within the community.

Everything changed the year that Sarah turned six. Sarah was a fanciful child, taking after her mother, Pete teased, and she did well in the private school that they enrolled her in. Susan had insisted on a school that recognized the benefit of creativity in addition to the core educational subjects.

That year, Susan thought she was merely feeling a bit sad and tired to be alone in the house all day while Pete worked and Susan was at school, but eventually she had to admit that the lingering exhaustion could not be normal and scheduled an appointment with her physician.

It was that fateful appointment that changed their lives forever.

Cancer. Susan had cancer. Little was known about the disease, except that there were many varieties, some aggressive, some less so, but almost all were deadly. Susan was lucky. Instead of weeks or months to live, the doctors estimated she could have as much as two years.

Susan and Pete wept together at the hospital, then they prayed together at the church, and by the time they picked Sarah up from daycare, Susan's face was serene and resolved. She knew the odds were stacked against her, but she would fight to be there for as much of her daughter's life as she could.

They decided to conceal her illness from Sarah as much as possible. They did not want her to be burdened with worry at such a young age, and there was nothing that could be done anyway.

And then one day, almost a year and a half since the diagnosis, the circus came to town.

Susan was unaware of it until Sarah got home from school, with nothing but babble about the circus on her lips. Susan, in the middle of preparing a snack of sliced apples for her daughter, set down the knife and carefully braced herself on the counter. Drawing a deep breath, she asked Sarah the name of the circus.

Of course it was Le Carnaval.

And of course, knowing how limited her time with her daughter may be, Susan could deny her nothing.

At dinner that night, Sarah could talk about nothing but the circus and how soon they might attend and whether she would get there before her friends at school. Pete watched Susan with a concerned expression and she gave him a reassuring smile. He did not know Le Carnaval was _her _circus.

Three days later, they stood before the great tent. Susan's eyes traveled over it nostalgically. It looked much the same as she remembered, patched in a few more places perhaps, and the sign about the gate was much more elaborate. She took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. Nothing happened, and Susan instantly felt silly. What had she expected? Still, as they drifted with the rest of the crowd toward where she knew the arena was located, she couldn't help the darting glances that sought out every shadowy corner. Would he still be here? After all this time? Susan wasn't sure if she felt eager or terrified.

The grand parade would answer that question, and Susan found herself sitting on the edge of her seat, almost as tense as Sarah, as they waited for the show to begin. At last it was time, and it was even more of an amazing spectacle than Susan remembered. She found herself gasping with delight, applauding and cheering with the rest of the crowd. Sarah was beside herself and even Pete seemed impressed.

Through it all, Susan scanned the faces of each player, but none of them were familiar to her. At last, the final performers had begun their circuit and Susan couldn't help sinking back into her seat with a sigh that was both relieved and disappointed.

Pete wrapped an arm around her. "Too much excitement?" he asked into her ear.

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't miss this for the world," she replied, smiling fondly at Sarah. He gave her shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

As they filed out of the arena and into the jubilant air surrounding the area, Sarah dragged them over to a cart labeled Krazy Konfectionary Kreations that Susan certainly didn't remember. They strolled casually through the streets, nibbling bites off of each other's mysterious treats and enjoying the street performances. Susan relaxed now that she knew a certain someone was no longer around.

Unfortunately, she quickly realized that she had let her guard down too soon. While her family was watching a pair of clowns with a small monkey, something bumped against Susan's foot. Glancing down, she gasped and stumbled backward at the sight of a familiar crystal orb. The ball rolled away from her as if under its own power, bounced down the narrow street, and leapt into a gloved hand. Susan stared at that hand, frozen.

A second ball and a second hand joined the first, the rest of the individual hidden in the shadows, but Susan did not need to see him to know it was Jareth. She had watched his act dozens of times. She took a single step away from him before Sarah went rushing past her. Susan reached for her daughter, but was too slow, and the girl pushed to the front of the crowd to watch Jareth's performance with wide, starry eyes. Pete caught her, thinking she might have stumbled, and began to lead her closer, but Susan couldn't make her feet move.

Pete turned to her, concerned. "Honey, is everything okay?" he asked, then took a closer look at her face. Susan imagined that her complexion must be ashy white. She felt dizzy, but all she could see was those hands, moving in the shadows. Darkness pressed in around her from all sides and she was only dimly aware of Pete speaking to her, shaking her arm gently.

"It's him," she whispered, and collapsed in a dead faint.

* * *

She woke in a place she never expected to be again: Jareth's home. As consciousness returned and she found herself staring at a very familiar table next to a very familiar front door and realized she was in a very familiar bed, Susan started to her feet. Then sat down again heavily as waves of dizziness rolled over her.

"Mama!" Sarah bounced up from where she had been sitting at the table, a coloring book and a box of crayons spread before her, and launched herself into Susan's lap. Susan hugged her daughter, smoothing her hair. "Mama, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Susan smiled comfortingly. "Of course, of course I am. It was just a little overwhelming, that's all. All of the noise and lights…" Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room.

It should have been a small room. She _knew_ this building and she _knew_ the limitations enforced by the circus, to ensure that no building was even the slightest bit larger than necessary. When you had to tear down everything and rebuild it every few months, space came at a premium. And though the entrance remained as she remembered, the space beyond was..._huge!_

Susan's grip tightened on her daughter. "What is this place?" she murmured.

"It's my home, of course," a voice barked. Susan jumped and Sarah squirmed around to look. Jareth stepped out of one of the impossible doorways. "You remember, don't you?"

"I don't remember this," Susan replied softly, eyes wandering across the changes. "This is...it can't possibly all fit in here." Oddly, she noticed a bow and a quiver full of arrows in one corner. "Is that…?"

Sarah clapped her hands, delighted. "Is it magic? It's magic, isn't it! It is, it is!"

Jareth smirked.

"Sarah," Susan cautioned, drawing the girl back to her side. She stood again, slowly this time, and faced Jareth with her shoulders straight and proud. "Where is my husband?" she demanded.

Jareth tilted his head. "Oh, if you've misplaced him, I should hardly know."

Susan's eyes narrowed.

At that moment, the door cracked open and Pete tiptoed in, relaxing when he saw that she was awake. He crossed to her side quickly, embracing her. "I talked to the doctor," he murmured into her hair before drawing back. "How are you feeling, hon?"

She shook her head. "Just tired. And it's getting late. We should get home."

Pete nodded, shooing Sarah out the door, and turned to Jareth. "Thank you, sir, for allowing my wife to rest here. I sincerely appreciate it." He held out his hand. Jareth stared at it, then his eyes slid to Susan.

"I would like a word with your wife before you go," he said silkily. Susan paled and Pete frowned, glancing back and forth between the two of them, comprehension slowly dawning on his face.

"It's him," he said, sounding stunned. "He's the one. This is your circus. Oh my god." He drew a shaking hand over his face, then bravely stepped between Susan and Jareth. "Susan, you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to." His eyes watched Jareth intensely, but his voice was gentle as he spoke to her. Jareth tilted his head, disdainful amusement plain on his face.

Susan sighed, then put a hand on Pete's shoulder, drawing him back. "No," she said. "It's good to get...closure...while I still can." Pete let her pull him back, studying her face and noting her resolve before giving a resigned nod.

"I'll be just outside the door though. If you need anything…"

She smiled, her eyes tracking to Jareth. "I'll call."

Pete nodded, and was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Susan stared silently across the room at her former friend. Still in his performance garb, Jareth looked more otherworldly than ever. From his sequined jacket and fitted pants to his stage makeup and the colored streaks in his wild blonde hair, he could have stepped from the pages of a fairy tale. He straightened his leather gloves where they met the ruffled cuffs of his shirt, eyeing her sideways. The mood in the room felt heavy, weighted with tension.

"You look well," Susan said faintly, breaking the oppressive silence.

"You do not." He continued to fiddle with his clothing, not looking at her. "An ordinary life does not suit you."

She laughed softly, unable to help herself when she identified the jealousy in his voice. A boy who didn't want to share his pretty friend with the other children. "I'm happy," she told him. "Happier than I ever was here."

He stilled, staring into the distance. "I could have made you happy," he said softly, and she knew he was not speaking of their personal relationship.

She shook her head. "Your magical world would not make me happy."

He looked at her then, surprise apparent on his face. "You no longer deny it as madness."

Susan took her time answering, speaking carefully. She had never expected to meet Jareth again, but sometimes late at night, she had wondered what she would say to him if she did. Now those words spilled from her lips.

"I have been to other worlds, Jareth. When I was a girl, my brothers and my sister and I traveled to a place called Narnia, where we became kings and queens and ruled for many years. Yet when we finally returned to this world, it was as if no time had passed at all. It was like nothing had happened at all, like the whole thing had been a dream. I felt like everything we had done was meaningingless. So I tried not to remember. And when everyone died, I tried even harder, until I made myself believe none of it had been real.

"But when you showed me your world, it made me start to remember, and it hurt, and I didn't want it. And I didn't know how to stop you, to stop the dreams and memories, so I did the only thing I could think of. I left." She paused, then added. "I'm surprised you stayed."

Jareth waved a hand dismissively. "Where else would I go? For that matter, where else would _you_ go? You loved the stage, I saw it every time you stepped onto it. I thought for certain you would come back to it." He was studying her. "You were a queen."

"I _am_ a queen," Susan said fiercely, pride flooding her. "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia," she quipped.

Jareth was staring at her, realization dawning on his face as he read her demeanor and she knew that he was accepting her words as truth. "I was a prince," he confessed, startling her. "Prince of a world that died a long time ago. I myself survived only with Aslan's help."

He was watching her carefully, but the word no longer struck terror into her heart. Instead, it filled her with a quiet peace, the kind that she often felt when at church or surrounded by her family.

"You have changed," Jareth said.

"I am dying," she replied, then snapped her mouth shut. She hadn't intended to say that, hadn't meant to tell him at all.

Jareth straightened, his gaze intense. "What?" he asked sharply. When she struggled to find a response, his expression darkened and his hand slapped the table between them. "What do you mean? Explain yourself!"

Susan took a deep breath. "I'm dying," she said again, her voice a calm counterpoint to his rage. "Six months, perhaps less, perhaps a little more. We'll see. There is nothing the doctors can do. I've known for some time now." His anger was changing into horror. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's fine, Jareth. I lived a good, full life - two lives, really - and I've made my peace with this. I'm ready to let go."

Her words didn't seem to reach him. "What about the rest of us?" he demanded. "What if _we_ aren't ready to lose you?"

"It's not really your decision," she told him curtly.

"Maybe it should be," he replied, his expression darkening. "Your doctors cannot help you, but I..._I_ can help you." He stood abruptly, moving to the bookcase that hid the magical door. She wondered absently why he bothered when the rest of his house was so clearly unnatural to anyone who had seen the shape of both the outside and the inside.

"W-what do you mean?" she asked, eyeing the door nervously. "I don't need your help, Jareth. Jareth? What are you doing?" She struggled to her feet as he threw open the door, revealing the world with the red sky that had haunted her nightmares.

While she was still rising, trying to keep her eyes on both Jareth and the world beyond the doorway, a figure appeared on the other side of the door. A short creature, it scrambled up the hill and through the door as if it had been waiting for Jareth to open it. "Took you long enough," the man grumbled. "Been waiting for _hours_." Susan gaped. The person appeared to be a short, very wrinkled, lump of a man. A dwarf, she would have called him in Narnia, but there were no dwarves in this world and she did not know how Jareth would have found one.

No, it was something else about the man that bothered her. Something familiar in his gravelly voice. "Hercles?" She gasped.

The man noticed her then, eyes widening. "S-susan?" he asked, gaping at her.

"Actually, it's Hergles now," Jareth said idly from where he leaned against the door, amusement plain on his face.

"Thought I might drop the S," Hercles - Hergles - whatever his name was - said over his shoulder, distracted. "Some of them new things have trouble with it."

"Hergle," Jareth said, tasting the new name. "I don't like it. Maybe it's the R."

Hergle muttered under his breath. "Heggle Higgle Haggle...ooh, I like that one."

Jareth snorted. "Haggle is an actual word, not a name, however fitting."

"Hoggle then. Yeah, I likes that." Jareth merely rolled his eyes in response.

"Hercles, what _happened_ to you?" Susan finally managed.

He turned back to her with a start. "Oh! Er," he said, looking embarrassed.

"Jareth, what did you do to him?" Susan demanded, but Hercles - _Hoggle_ \- waved his hands placatingly.

"No, no, it weren't him. See, I snuck in."

"You _what_?" Susan asked, astonished.

"Snuck in," he said, abashed. "Found the door one day, when in and got lost. Took him a week to fish me out."

Susan raised her eyes to Jareth, who also looked a bit embarrassed. "A new world, full of latent magic, is no place for a growing boy. By the time I realized where he'd gone and was able to track him down, he'd absorbed too much of it. This," he nodded at the stumpy figure, "was the result."

"That's horrible," Susan gasped.

"Horrible Hoggle," Hoggle chuckled. "What're you doing back here, anyway?"

"That doesn't concern you, Hoggle," Jareth interjected. "Out of the way. We'll talk later."

Hoggle made a rude sound and stomped back through the door, muttering at Jareth as he went. Only when he was out of sight did Jareth turn to Susan, a pleading look on his face.

"It really was an accident," he told her. "I had no idea...but at any rate, it taught me a valuable lesson that can help you now."

Susan was beginning to feel lightheaded. "You want to turn me into a dwarf?"

Jareth barked a laugh. "Oh no, my dear. You are far too old to be affected by the magic to that degree." He stopped laughing, his sharp eyes latched onto her. "That is not to say that there wouldn't be any other effects."

"It can heal me," she said faintly. "You think it can heal me."

A light had come into his eyes, but rather than give her hope, it terrified her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the portal. She tried to resist, but her fragile strength was nothing compared to his determination.

"At what price?" she demanded. "Jareth? At what price?" He hesitated, looking back at her with a slight frown. "If I step through your magical door, if I accept this miracle cure, then what? Will you let me walk out of here, back to my family? Back to my life?"

"Oh Susan," he said. A flicker of sorrow crosses his face. "Once the magic has you, it will never let you leave." Seeing her horrified expression, he continued. "It's a small price to pay! Such a little thing, in exchange for your life."

"What about my family?" she asked.

"They can come too!" he replied earnestly, then frowned. "Well, not the girl. She'll have to wait a few years, else she'll end up like Hoggle." He tugged on her arm again, but Susan dug her heels in and resisted.

"You expect me to leave my eight year old daughter alone in this world, all for a _chance_ that magic can grant me a selfish desire?" she cried.

"_Your life_ is not a selfish desire!" Jareth rounded on her snarling and Susan fell away from him, landing hard on the wooden floor. She scrambled backwards, desperate to get away from him. "_Your life_ is not worth less than your daughter's!"

Susan's back hit something and she looked around frantically. The wall. She had literally backed herself into the corner. Her eyes fell on something else. The bow. It was within arm's reach. Her eyes darted back to Jareth, who was stalking towards her. Susan didn't hesitate. She threw herself at the bow, sliding an arrow from the quiver and knocking it with one smooth motion. Her arms remembered the movements, though they trembled at the effort of keeping it steady as she aimed at Jareth's heart. He froze.

"My life is worth no _more_ than hers either," she breathed. "Step back." Jareth stepped back and Susan managed to rise slowly to her knees, steadying her aim.

"Susan, please," Jareth began, but she was done listening to him.

"Stop," she said, her voice cold and emotionless. "Through the door." When he hesitated, she drew the string more taught. "_Now!_" He raised his hands in surrender, backing up slowly, eyes darting as he clearly sought a way out. One booted foot stepped through. "Wait!"

He paused, lifting his eyes to her, hope wild on his face. It stabbed at Susan's heart and she realized tears were running down her face, but she kept her expression calm and her aim steady. "Leave the key," she ordered, ignoring the pang she felt as his face fell. Slowly, he lifted the chain that held the key over his head. Her arms trembled with the effort of keeping the arrow pointed at him.

He held chain with the key dangling from it, as if to toss it on the table, but he was studying her, noting her fear and exhaustion, and then he grinned. Susan started to frown, but in the next moment he tossed the key at her. Susan ducked, lowering the bow for precious seconds, and Jareth lunged. The arrow left the string without conscious thought. Jareth reached out a hand.

And fell back. The arrow through his shoulder spun him around and knocked him through the door. Panting, Susan wasted no time in scooping the key from where it had fallen on the floor and rushing to the doorway. She flung the wooden door shut with a slam and shoved the key into the lock, turning it hard so that the lock clicked loudly.

She fell to the ground gasping for breath. No sound came from the other side of the door.

She waited tensely, adrenaline still surging through her veins, but nothing else happened. She stared at the key in her hand. "It's over," she said aloud.

She pulled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall. Trembling, she dried her tears and neatened her appearance as best she could. As she turned to face the rest of the room, she gasped. The impossible rooms and hallways that Jareth had magically added were shrinking. Even now, she stepped backward hastily to avoid the narrowing hallway before her.

The door to the other world was shrinking too, fading as it went, until there was nothing left but a threadbare wooden wall. In moments, the building looked as ordinary as it did in Susan's memories. The weight of the key in her pocket was the only indication that any of it had ever existed.

She let herself out and Pete immediately noted her red eyes. His hands balled into fists but Susan shook her head. "Don't!" she told him. "We're done." And then, more softly, "It's over."

He studied her carefully, then reached out to take her hand. She leaned into him, relaxing into his familiar, comforting embrace. "Let's go home."

* * *

Four months later, Susan was gone. She left behind a beloved husband and a young daughter.

But before she left, she had Pete bring her old trunk down from the attic. It was full of things from her childhood, things she'd left behind in London but sent for once the memories of her family became stronger than the pain of their deaths. She shared those things with Sarah.

Pictures of the aunts and uncles and grandparents she would never know. Stories of magical lands where animals could talk. Lucy's journal, that chronicled their time as kings and queens. Her own journal, though it was mostly full of sorrow and tragedy as Susan struggled to belong in a world she no longer wanted to be in. Sadly, she had nothing from her time at Le Carnaval, but she told Sarah about it. How she had run the whole theater and what it felt like to stand on the stage while the audience called your name and even, at the end, a little about the grand play that she had worked on with an old friend.

Pete helped as well. He collected newspaper clippings from everywhere that Le Carnaval had visited over the years that Susan worked there, and any that held even a scrap of news about Susan or the theater were collected in the trunk with her other memories. "She won't grow up without you," he told Susan fondly, stroking her hair.

She took his hand, kissed it, and said softly, "She'll need more than that." Facing him, she took his face in her hands, letting her love for him shine in her eyes. "Don't be alone, Pete. Love is so hard to find in this world, and if you do find it, don't let it go for my sake. I don't want you to be alone. And Sarah needs a mother who can hug her, not a ghost to haunt her."

He tried to protest, but she shushed him and refused to speak of it further, or again.

She knew when the time came. She woke in the middle of the night, eyes staring out the window of her bedroom. Her chest felt heavy, her head light. She had forgotten to close the curtains and moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating it with a ghostly glow. Outside, in the tree near the window, sat a white barn owl. It stared at her and she stared back and somehow she knew.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you," she whispered, and the owl tilted its head as if it heard her. The dark room around her was growing fuzzy, until only the white owl glowing in the darkness seemed crystal clear. "Watch over her," she said, or tried to say, but the owl seemed to understand, bobbing its head and giving a little flap of its wings.

Susan rolled over in her bed, shutting the owl out of her sight, and took her husband's hand in hers. She touched his face where he slept beside her, and knew no more.


	13. Chapter 13

Of course, Sarah hated her stepmother. Her mother, her _real_ mother, had told her all about stepmothers. They were always, always evil, no matter how nice they pretended to be at the beginning. So she watched her stepmother with careful, knowing eyes, waiting for her to reveal her true nature.

Sarah herself was an odd child. She had no friends, save for her toys and dolls that she arranged about her room like a strange, fantastical court. The children she met at school bored her. They had no imagination and only wanted to play silly games that held no interest for her. Her father enrolled her in a theater course, which had at first delighted her, but when she found the roles were awarded at random rather than based on skill, due to some misplaced sense of fairness that the adults had, she lost interest in that as well.

She was not a cruel child. In fast, she cared very much. She brought home the bird with the broken wing and nursed it back to health. She cried with her evil stepmother killed a spider. She played with each of her toys equally, not wanting any to feel left out or abandoned. Sarah knew all about being abandoned.

Sarah's mother had abandoned her. Her father, and her evil stepmother too, told her that her mother was an angel in Heaven now. Sarah thought that sounded lovely, but she did wish her mother had waited a bit. It wasn't fair to leave her behind with an evil stepmother when she should have a _real_ mother. Sarah thought privately that her wonderful mother must have been unable to tolerate the mundane life that her father offered and had had no choice but to move on to more glorious things. Sarah loved her father, it wasn't his fault that he was boring, but she wished he could have been a bit more glamorous so that her mother wouldn't have had to leave.

And she would not forgive him for the evil stepmother.

Then came the baby.

Sarah was old enough to understand where babies came from, by then, but it still shocked her to realize that her stepmother was pregnant. Her father was delighted, babbling about how Sarah would have a sibling to play with, but she could only stare at him, feeling strangely old. She would be finished with school before her new brother or sister even started their first year. What could they possibly have in common?

So Sarah drew further away from her family. Whenever she got the chance, she escaped to the park near her house, which reminded her a bit of what she imagined a fairy kingdom would look like, and acted out her dreams to her heart's content. And at the end of each day, she came regretfully back to reality, trudging home to the burdensome, weary life that awaited her.

Then one day, a thick envelope arrived for her in the mail. Sarah never got any mail, though it was often her job to retrieve the letters from the box as she returned home from school. So it was that she was alone on the walk when she first laid eyes on the envelope with no return address and her name scrawled in a spidery script. Knowing that her stepmother would never let her open such a suspicious package, Sarah tucked the envelope between two of her schoolbooks with barely any hesitation.

Later, safely alone in her room, she retrieved it and laid it upon her bed, studying it. There was nothing to reveal where it had come from. The handwriting was beautiful but unfamiliar to her. The postmark had been smudged so that she could not make out the point of origin.

With a deep breath, she carefully freed the flap and tipped the envelope, spilling the contents onto her bed.

It was a book.

She lifted the soft cover tentatively.

No, it was a play.

She flipped through it, examining the inside of the cover and the spine but could find no author. The only thing on it was the title, in elegant gold letters.

"The Labyrinth".


End file.
